


it would take a miracle

by bravefortheboys



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Princess Bride Fusion, Cliffs of Insanity, Harry dies a little, Kidnapping, Kissing, Liam is very sensitive, Louis is very dramatic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Niall is very noble, No Smut (for now), Or does he, Revenge, Romance, Short Sicilians, Swordfighting, The Princess Bride AU, The Princess Bride References, Torture, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:55:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7515910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravefortheboys/pseuds/bravefortheboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Niall is the world's greatest sword fighter who's after the son-of-a-bitch that killed his father, Liam is a misunderstood fighter with a heart of gold, Prince Zayn doesn't want to hurt a soul, Harry is the most patient Farm Boy to ever walk the earth, Louis just wants to live a simple life, and somehow everything works out in the end because we're dealing with true love. You think this happens every day?</p><p> </p><p>(AU based on The Princess Bride with the same amount of cheesiness and action but a significantly higher amount of curse words and penis jokes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ACT I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelsvevo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsvevo/gifts).



> Based off the prompt: “A Princess Bride AU where Louis is Princess Buttercup and Harry is Wesley. Instead of saying 'As you wish' Harry says 'always'. Also Zayn is a not-evil prince Humperdink, who really doesn't actually want to marry Louis but his adviser Simon keeps telling his it's a great idea.”
> 
> Although I’d assume most of you have seen the movie/know the basic concept, here's a warning for the sake of those of you who haven't and may not be expecting certain things:
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Violence, torture, attempted suicide, mentions of blood, mentions of suicide, mentions of bullying, aaaand I think that covers it? NONE OF THESE PARTS ARE GRAPHIC/EXPLICIT!! They're about as tame as you'd expect from a PG rated movie, but they do happen/are mentioned, and I wouldn't want anyone getting blindsided! 
> 
>  
> 
> so HELLO okay a few little things:
> 
> \- I kept the “as you wish” bc at some points the “always” seemed unfitting BUT i did include a few “always”s so I HOPE THAT’S OKAY! I’M SORRY!
> 
> \- I didn't have anyone specific be Vizzini?? Initially I considered Ben Winston (? don't even ask) but I just couldn't type 'inconceivable!' without anyone else's voice in my mind except for Wallace Shawn's SO I never explicitly say a name for Vizzini. He's just "The Sicilian". You can imagine him as (a short and bald) Ben Winston or Wallace Shawn or WHOMEVER your heart desires!
> 
> \- The Princess Bride is my favorite book/movie of all time so I was very reluctant to even write this in fear of not doing it enough justice. I wanted to include all the #iconic parts without making this just a carbon copy of the script/book itself. That being said, there are many little changes here and there (Zayn (Prince Humperdink) being good and not the villain, Liam (Fezzik) not being an actual giant, etc). I hope this still does the original story enough justice, despite the few changes! I also based this off the movie AND book, so a lot of these seemingly extra scenes (Count Simon’s visit to the farm, Louis’ profession of love) actually happened in the book! Yay reading!
> 
> \- There is no Miracle Max scene for the sake of keeping this Harry/Louis centric (seeing as the Miracle Max scene would just include Niall and Liam). I initially really wanted to include it with James Corden being Miracle Max (Miracle James?? not AS fun sounding, but it's a Thought), but I decided against it for the sake of, again, keeping this Harry/Louis centric. IF a few of you would actually like to read it, I’m definitely open to writing it and adding it to this (probably as an extra act) once authors are revealed! (though, truly, I may just do it anyways for the sake of my own desires)
> 
> \- Though it’s not entirely necessary, I HIGHLY recommend watching the movie (or reading the book, ofc) beforehand so you can get the ~vibe~ of the type of humor bc this is about to get super cheesy and “... are u srs…” at some parts INTENTIONALLY! so yeah, check out the movie (it's on Netflix!) so you can Get It (and bc it’s just an amazing movie in general)
> 
>  
> 
> HUUUUUUUUUGE THANK YOU to my 2 betas, N & A for being my #1 supporters through this and constantly correcting my dumb lil mistakes and adding the greatest commentary known to man onto my google doc (i literally want to print it out and sell it) I LOVE YOU BOTH, THIS WOULD BE A HOT MESS WITHOUT Y’ALL!! Also huge thank you to [Kelli](http://jimmytfallon.tumblr.com/) for helping me decide on this prompt in the first place and for helping me come up with a title! I adore you so so much!!!
> 
> SO WITH ALL THAT BEING SAID (i’m the Most Annoying)… I hope you enjoy my spin on The Princess Bride as much as I enjoyed writing it!! <3
> 
>  
> 
> (title from Miracle Max's line "It would take a miracle" in the movie)
> 
> fic photoset/rec post [here](http://jimmytfallon.tumblr.com/post/147964336522/title-it-would-take-a-miracle-by-anonymous-for)

Louis Tomlinson grew up on a farm. 

He was beautiful and charming and widely adored by the locals, often told that he was destined for a life of luxury due to his looks. He never let that kind of talk get to his head, though. He loved his family’s farm and all the simple pleasures in life that came along with it. He loved riding his horse, cleverly named Horse, daily throughout the woods and getting lost among the countless trees. He loved the smell of wood and sap and taking a dip in any hidden rivers or lakes he stumbled across. He loved spending some alone time to think and get in touch with nature.

He _especially_ loved taunting the farm boy.

He only ever referred to him as “Farm Boy”, but his real name was Harry. An awfully homely name, if Louis says so himself, for someone who is so often gawked at when making trips downtown. Louis never understood the appeal, but perhaps that’s just his own high standards speaking. He was close to him in age, if not younger (Louis never bothered to ask), yet he was much taller and broader. That’s just what years of dealing with farm animals and crops does to a man, he supposes.

Louis takes it upon himself daily to try and wind Harry up, to elicit _some_ kind of reaction other than just acceptance. It’s nearly impossible.

He comes stomping into the stables one particular morning before his daily ride with his hands balled into fists.

“Where the _hell_ is my saddle?!” Louis shouts. He’s always been one for the dramatics.

Harry just raises an eyebrow up at Louis from where he’s unloading a barrel of hay for the horses. “I washed it, like you asked me to. It’s hanging up out back, if you’d like me to get it for you.”

Oh, right. Louis forgot about that.

He clenches his jaw and crosses his arms, looking around for something — _anything_ — to complain about.

“My… my riding boots. Where are they?”

“On your feet, Louis.”

Louis wants to scream. 

He scrambles to take them off, tossing them over by Harry’s feet.

“Make them shiny.”

Harry, without any indication of annoyance or frustration, picks the boots up and nods before meeting Louis’ eyes. 

“As you wish.”

Louis clenches his jaw as Harry meets his eyes, blinking once before dropping his eyes and quickly turning on his heels and walking away. _As you wish_. That’s all he every bloody gets. Countless orders and scoffs and bitchy comments, and he just gets an _as you wish_ every damn time. It’s beyond frustrating and, although Louis will never admit it, it makes his heart beat just a bit faster each time he hears it.

 

It’s summertime when news of Prince Zayn of Florin’s quest for a hand in marriage hits the town. The girls everywhere go crazy with personal preparations as if they stand a chance, despite Prince Zayn’s past rumored flings with male artists and tailors during his constant trips to Paris—not that any of the girls would actually want to believe any of it. 

Prince Zayn’s father had fallen ill over the winter, which means he’s up for the throne much sooner than expected, which of _course_ calls for a royal wedding. Louis pities him, if anything, but he’s certainly not interested enough to hear about it all day, every day. He’s also certainly not _drunk_ enough to hear his less-than-tolerated mum’s best friend’s daughter chatter relentlessly about the situation while staying over for tea.

“If he comes here—”

“Which would be highly unlikely,” Louis interrupts, trying to keep Elizabeth’s hopes as low as possible for the sake of his own ears having some sweet relief. 

“But _if_ ,” Elizabeth continues sternly, tapping her nails against her tea cup. “I think I will impress him with a song. He’s a fan of the arts, isn’t he? I can learn a quick tune within a few days, and I can perform it when…” Elizabeth’s voice tapers off as Harry walks in, his tattered flannel hardly buttoned up and partially hanging off his right shoulder as he makes his way to the kitchen. “Who’s that?” she whispers, leaning in close to Louis.

Louis hums disinterestedly and waves Elizabeth off as he sips his tea. “He’s our farmhand. Pay no attention to him, he’ll be back outside shortly.”

“A farmhand? So, he tends the animals, and all?” she asks curiously, and Louis almost wants to be suspicious of her interest in him, but he convinces himself it’s not worth his time.

“Yeah, and he does anything I tell him to,” Louis says a bit impatiently, hoping to maybe end this… _whatever_ this is; if anything, it just makes Elizabeth more interested. He pauses for a moment before narrowing his eyes with a mischievous spark and leaning in.“Watch this,” Louis murmurs quietly towards Elizabeth before clearing his throat. “Farm Boy, I want you to pick some flowers in the garden for every room in the house. It’s been smelling quite rank lately because of yourself, I’m sure, and I want it to smell like I’m laying in a field of roses.”

Harry nods as he returns from the kitchen with a towel in hand to wipe off some mud caked onto on the skin right below his ear. “As you wish.”

Elizabeth raises an impressed eyebrow as Louis smirks over at her and mouths ‘wait for it’.

“Farm Boy, I also happened to notice that Horse’s mane is looking a bit dull, so you’ll have to give him a wash later until it’s back to normal. Can you do that for me?”

Harry looks back at Louis just as Louis snickers quietly to Elizabeth, clearly able to see this is all just for entertainment. How can he not? They’re laughing right in front of his face. Still, rather than turning cold or frustrated, he just gives that small, resigned smile and nods. “Always.”

Louis nods and waves him out, watching him leave before laughing brightly. “See? It’s like I’ve got my own two-trick dog.”

“Oh my god, Louis, you’re awful. You’re absolutely tormenting that poor soul when he’s _obviously_ in love with you.”

“In love with me? Is that supposed to be a joke?” Louis sneers, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He pushes his tea aside, leaning back in his chair and subtly flickering his eyes over towards the hallway to ensure Harry was out of earshot for that. Even if it _was_ improbable, he certainly doesn't need Harry to start getting suspicious. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s off plotting my murder this very second. The only reason he’s been so tolerable is because my mum pays him so well for doing the bare minimum of what other farmers would make him do.”

Elizabeth just rolls her eyes and tosses her long curls aside. “You can be so dense sometimes. If I were you, I’d take advantage of that fine piece of man worshipping me and take him to bed. I’ll bet he’s quite an ardent lover — all those muscles and...”

“Okay, enough.” Louis stops her with his hand in the air and his nose wrinkled in distaste. “That bloke deals with farm animals and dirt all day. Do you genuinely think I’d want that kind of man in me?”

“ _I_ certainly would. And soon you’ll realize you would, too. But who knows, it might be too late. He might just meet somebody else and hit it off perfectly if you keep acting so clueless,” Elizabeth sighs with a shrug, helping herself to another scone set out on the plate in front of them. Louis just glares up at her and rolls his eyes, though he subtly flickers his gaze back again towards the door to watch Harry head out, a hint of a frown forming on his lips at the thought. 

 

The talks of Prince Zayn’s quest for a hand in marriage intensify, much to Louis’ dismay, when rumors about his advisor visiting different households start spreading. Count Simon — or, as Louis prides himself on coming up with, Count _Semen_ — makes rounds around nearly every town besides his own, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

That is, until one morning when his carriage is spotted coming directly towards their shabby farm. Initially, his parents worry over some unpaid taxes that are only just now getting their long-awaited punishment, but surely that wouldn’t constitute a visit from the _Count_.

When the carriage finally stops on the dirt terrain, Count Simon _and_ Countess Marie step out in all their statuesque and grand glory, looking around the farm as if to try and determine whether or not it’s the right one.

“I would like to see your cows. What kind of cow-raising secrets do you have?” Count Simon asks bluntly without even a ‘hello’ as an introduction. He frowns when he realizes the puddle of mud he's stepped out into after getting out of the carriage, stepping away with a huff. 

“Secrets about... my cows?” Louis’ dad questions with furrowed eyebrows, trying not to sound so confused since they _do_ run a farm, and all, but certainly not one worthy of the visit of the Count. And, if he’s being honest, their prized animal would be _hens_ , not cows.

“Yes, your cows. I’m considering running a dairy farm of my own and I need more cows to breed,” Count Simon says a bit impatiently, looking around the farm slightly and frowning. “I don’t suppose you’re childless, are you?”

“No, sir, we—"

“Great. Bring him out. Maybe he'll be more competent with my questions.” 

Louis’ dad calls out loudly for Louis, but his mum narrows her eyes suspiciously.

“How did you know it was a boy?”

Count Simon raises his eyebrow for a moment before shrugging. “I’m good at guessing.”

Louis runs out of the house at the sound of his name, frowning and slowing down when he sees Count Simon and Countess Marie. He looks to his parents for answers, but his mum just gives a tight look and nods towards them. Louis turns to the Count and Countess, bowing formally.

Count Simon seems to still at the sight of Louis, giving a small nod as he stares at him. Intensely. Darkened beady eyes and slightly sweaty forehead. Perhaps even a bit of sweat building under his pecs to the point of lightly staining his white shirt. It’s uncomfortable to say the least.

“The Count and Countess would like you to tell them about our cow-raising secrets, yes?” Louis’ mum asks, looking to Count Simon, who nods in reply.

“You should ask the farm boy; he’s the one that takes care of them,” Louis replies, not bothering to look at his mum’s undoubtedly tense expression. He refuses to entertain a man who looks quite-literally like an erect penis (hence the nickname). He does, however, let his eyes drop to Count Simon’s right hand, which was long-rumored to have an extra finger and _holy shit_ , it’s true. Somehow it’s fitting. Louis quickly darts his eyes back up to Simon, who unfortunately seems to have noticed his glance. Louis clears his throat lightly, looking away. 

“Is _that_ the farm boy?” Countess Marie asks with a hint of amusement in her tone, pointing her pointy chin towards Harry, who’s currently laying out bales of hay.

“Yes,” Louis’ mum confirms with a nod once she turns to see Harry. She squints a bit before frowning and turning back to the Countess. “He hasn’t got a shirt on, though. I don’t think you want to be around...”

“I’ve seen shirtless men before. I'll be fine, thanks,” Countess Marie interrupts, a hint of hunger in her voice. 

Louis could barf if he wasn’t worried Count Simon might lick it up or do something equally vile. He never trusted men shaped like penises.

“Yoo-hoo!” Countess Marie calls out with a wave her hand, narrowing her eyes slightly at the lack of response and snapping her fingers towards Harry’s direction. “You, there! Come here!” she calls out with a bit more of an authoritative tone. 

Harry looks up from the current bale of hay that he’s holding and pauses for a moment, as if he’s not the only person around that she could be referring to, before setting the bale down and making his way over to them, wiping the palms of his hands against his pants.

“Well, hello.” Countess Marie smiles at Harry when he stands in front of them and bows, tucking a few stray greying hairs behind her ear. “You must be the farm boy in charge of taking care of these… _spectacular_ cows. What’s your name, dear?”

“Harry, Countess,” Harry replies with a head bow directed towards her specifically. 

“And what do you do that makes these cows so amazing? Surely you must be taking excellent care of them.” 

Harry looks perplexed for a moment.“I just feed them, Countess.”

“You must show me your technique,” she insists, offering her arm out as a nudge for Harry to guide her along the way.

“Oh, it’s awfully muddy back there, Countess. I wouldn’t want your gown to get ruined,” Harry says with an unsure frown, which elicits a light shake of Countess Marie’s head.

“I never wear my gowns more than once; it’s nothing. Lead the way, _Harry_ ,” she all but purrs, offering out her forearm again for Harry to take hold of. Harry looks down at it hesitantly before nodding and leading the way for her. 

If it was possible to shoot beams from eyes, Countess Marie would undoubtedly be demolished by now. Honestly, where does she get off on shamelessly flirting with such commoners? Is it a way of teasing and taunting? _Farm boys_ , to make matters worse. _His_ farm boy, to make matters even worse. Louis wants to rip the badly-dyed hair from her gaudy over-the-top updo. He grudgingly follows along with his eyes narrowed in on the back of Countess’ hair, unknowingly having Count Simon’s eyes fixated on the back of his own head, his mum watching it all unfold with a worried look.

 

Their visit takes most of the morning, and Louis’ even more annoyed due to the sun beating down hard and his empty stomach. He’s, of course, relieved once they finally do leave (without any actual purchases of cows), but he can’t quite understand the bitter aftertaste their visit leaves him. Was it Count Simon’s disgusting and perverted stare? No, he hadn’t been expecting behavior any less creepy from a man nicknamed Count Semen. Was it Countess Marie’s undivided attention and shameless flirting with Harry? Louis scoffs at the thought. He’s sure Elizabeth would have a field day with this. She’d probably say something like, “See? I _told_ you he’d find someone else!”, and he’d rather not give her the satisfaction. 

 

Louis’ having dinner with his parents when they question his behavior, to which he easily shrugs off as the weather making him lazy and finishes his stew in silence. He curses under his breath when he’s told to deliver Harry his dinner, but he must oblige willfully if he wants to continue his charade. He takes the bowl with him as he heads outside to the stables where Harry’s cleaning some tools, dropping it onto the bench ungracefully and crossing his arms.

“Dinner,” he says plainly, watching as Harry looks up and sets the shovel down to go and grab his bowl. 

Harry thanks him lightly and goes to sit, and Louis shakes his head.

“I didn’t say you could eat yet,” Louis huffs, arms still crossed as Harry reluctantly stands back up. He quickly looks around for something he can nitpick before his eyes fall on Horse. He pauses for a moment before clearing his throat and straightening up. “I don’t like how you’ve been caring for Horse. His hoofs haven’t been looking as shiny as they usually do. You aren’t washing his mane that well, either, because it’s… smelly.” Louis makes a mental note to personally apologize to Horse later. “I want you to give him a proper wash, _tonight._ And I want you to shine his hoofs, _tonight_. I don’t care if it takes all night; I want it done by tomorrow morning so I can go on a ride without being so ashamed of his appearance.”

“As you wish,” Harry says without missing a beat. Louis could just _scream_ at how easily he just takes it, wanting to stay so he can taunt and poke and urge for _something_. Instead, he just clenches his fists and stomps away with frustrated huffs of breath. 

 

Louis doesn’t quite figure it out until later that night.

He’s tossing and turning even after a generous helping of wine to try and sedate his nerves. He’s even got an uncomfortable sweat working at the top of his brow, but he supposes he can blame the weather on that. It doesn’t make sense until he starts to see flashes of dark blue eyes rimmed in black eyeliner. The Countess’ eyes, to be exact, fixated on — God, on the Farm Boy. On _Harry_. 

Louis scrunches his nose and rolls onto his back, staring up and trying to make sense of why he can’t get such a hideous thought out of his head. Her dark and scheming eyes watching and staring and widening in amusement over a bloody farm boy. Over _his_ Farm Boy, thank you very much. But then — oh _no_ , Harry starts staring back at her… even takes her arm to guide her, _willingly_. Cheeky smile and all! It’s a disaster. 

Louis rolls onto his stomach and screams into his pillow, kicks his legs a bit and lets himself tantrum it out. He shouldn’t care, is the thing. Harry’s nothing but a _servant_ , essentially _._ A dirty farm worker who’s covered in sweat and/or dirt most of the day and is probably no good at anything except feeding and caring for animals. But then Elizabeth’s warning words echo in his ears; “It might be too late. He might meet somebody else”. Louis could _cry._ He really could, but currently he’s more focused on tugging his shoes on and sneaking out of his bedroom and through the hall as quietly as he can.

He finds himself in front of Harry’s little hovel outside before he can really consider his options of how to approach the situation, fist knocking against his door firmly. When Harry opens, he has to look away.

He’s too beautiful. 

“Is everything alright?” Harry asks with concern in his tone, the dim and warm lighting from the candles inside casting a golden glow against Harry’s — of course — bare chest. Not exactly helping the situation.

“I love you,” Louis blurts out, not allowing himself to reflect on what he’s saying at all. “I know this may seem completely unfathomable to you, given the way I’ve treated you these past years, but I’ve loved you for these past few hours now with every second having more burning intensity than the last. I have more love for the mere dimple on your left cheek than any other human could have for an entire being. I have so much love for you that my heart can’t even contain it, and now my limbs are the humble servants of your desires.” Louis still keeps his eyes averted, knowing that this courageous spell he’s under will wear off the second he looks into Harry’s eyes. He’s sure it sounds like he’s talking shit now, but he can’t seem to stop. “I never realized the amount of love one could have for another until those mere hours ago when I realized I was in love with you. And, even then, the amount of love I had for you then is _nothing_ in comparison to the amount of love I have for you right this very second. Anything you want, I will make happen. Anything I cannot do, I will learn.” Louis can feel himself running out of things to say and his courage starting to wear off as reality hits him, so he knows he has to think faster on his feet. “I know Countess Marie is beautiful and rich, but don’t forget that she is old and married to a man that looks like a penis and therefore has awful taste and will most likely tire of you and move onto the next thing. I, on the other hand, am close to your age and unable to even _think_ of placing my affections on someone other than you, dearest Harry. Have I ever called you by your name before this moment? Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, sweet Harry, _darling_ Harry, my most treasured Harry — please tell me I have at least the smallest chance of holding a place in your heart,” Louis rambles before doing the most brave thing he’s ever done in his life; he looks up to meet Harry’s eyes.

And Harry closes the door on Louis’ face without one word.

_Without one word._

Louis immediately sets off into a sprint with hot tears running down his cheeks, wishing the earth could just swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to endeavor this painful heartbreak. He cries silent tears the entire way back inside, only letting out proper sobs once he’s safely locked away in the comfort and privacy of his own bedroom. He could kill his tongue for being so careless. How stupid could he be, giving everything up so easily like that? To someone he’s treated so awfully for so long, to make matters worse. God, Harry probably thinks he’s a _joke_. 

But has he really no decency to at least say something? Even a ‘No’? 

Maybe he was stupid. Maybe he didn’t know how to say anything except for a few simple servant-phrases like ‘as you wish’ and ‘always’. Yes, that must be it. Harry probably didn’t even understand what he was saying because they weren’t orders like he's used to. He probably would’ve said something like, ‘Duhhhh, as you wish? Duhhh, always? Sorry, Louis, me no speak good.’

Louis giggles to himself a bit at the thought, sitting up in his bed and wiping the tears under his eyes. What an idea. Perhaps he had just a bit too much wine and let some silly thoughts get the best of him. He was tipsy and disoriented from the heat — of _course_ he didn’t mean any of what he was saying. He laughs at how ridiculous he’d acted, shaking his head lightly as he gets up to straighten himself up a bit in the mirror, fussing with his hair before bursting into another fit of tears and sobs. He can only lie to himself to a certain extent. He loves Harry and Harry doesn’t love him and _that’s that_.

 

He spends the rest of his day holed up in his room, only stepping out to retrieve food because it’s not _as_ fun to wallow in self-pity on an empty stomach. He’s unsure of how much time has passed when when he hears a knock on his door, not moving an inch from where he’s currently laying on his bed and clutching his pillow.

“Who is it?” he asks weakly, knowing it’s probably once of his parents trying to check in on him.

“Harry.”  


Louis perks up immediately at that, tossing the pillow aside and sitting up rather quickly.

“Harry? Do I know a Harry?” he tries to play off coolly, simultaneously hurrying to the mirror to fuss with his hair and straighten himself out a bit. “Oh, _Farm Boy_ , it’s you!” Louis laughs to himself as he goes to open the door, keeping his face light and happy and free of any evidence of emotional wreckage. “I’m glad you decided to stop by, actually. I’ve been feeling quite shitty about that prank I pulled on you earlier... of course, you _did_ know I was just joking around with you, yes? At least, I thought you did until that very last second when you closed the door on me, which got me thinking that you might’ve taken my words seriously, which... well, we both know the possibility of _that_ is slim to none.”

“I’ve come to say goodbye.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows before laughing strangely. “You’re going to sleep and you’ve come to say goodnight to me? Well, thank you for your forgiveness. I thought for sure I’d ruined things with that silly joke. Luckily, you seem to —”

“I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Louis bites the inside of his cheek roughly, feeling like his heart has just dropped down to his stomach. “Like, leaving the farm? Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” His entire world seems to halt. “Is it because of what I said?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, fuck me. I’ve always been shit at biting my tongue,” Louis groans, covering his forehead with his hand as he shakes his head. “Well, I suppose there’s no changing your mind. What’s done is done. Just know that if you _do_ end up changing your mind, it’ll be too late. I won’t take you back after this. Not even if you beg.” He’s never been good at taking rejection.

Harry just stares.

Louis clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. Those damn green eyes. “That’s right. Not even if you get down on your knees and start crying at my feet. You think you can get away with this behavior because you’re beautiful and gorgeous and perfect, but you’re _awfully_ mistaken. People will catch onto what you’re really like soon enough, Farm Boy. _She_ certainly will. Do you really think she’ll go for someone as poor as you?”

“I’m going to America to seek my fortune,” Harry says, his tone blunt but not impatient. Never impatient with him. “A ship leaves from London in a few hours. There are great opportunities to get rich in America, and I plan on taking them. I’ve been training myself in my hovel not to need sleep. I plan on taking up a ten-hour-a-day job, saving every cent from my paycheck except for what I need to eat and keep myself strong and energized. I’ll work until I have enough to buy a farm even bigger than this one now to build a house even bigger than your own so that I can build a bed big yet cozy enough for two.”

Louis narrows his eyes and crossing his arms, his blood boiling and bubbling inside. He’s never liked being taunted. “You’re the biggest dimwit I know if you really think Countess Marie will be satisfied with a house on a _farm_.”

Harry huffs a bit and shakes his head. “Stop bringing up the countess! Please. I’d be most appreciative.” 

Louis blinks at Harry dumbly.

“Don’t you understand what’s going on?”

Louis shakes his head.

Harry sighs and shakes his head. “I suppose you’ve always been quite slow at catching onto things.”

Louis’ heart skips a bit when the queerest thought springs up in his mind. “Wait — do you love me, Harry? Is that it?”

Harry blinks and looks taken back. “Do I love you? God, the summertime and butterflies all belong to your creation, Louis. The sun itself couldn’t even compare to —”

“Wait, hold on, I’m still thinking about the first one.” Louis can feel his heart beating a bit faster from excitement. “Are you saying that you see me as the light of your life, Harry? That I brighten everything around you? This feels like a fever dream, Harry, but I feel like we’re approaching something very significant.” 

“I’ve stayed in my humble hovel all these years because of you. I’ve learned languages because I thought maybe you’d enjoy hearing me profess my love for you in every possible way. I’ve trained and kept my body strong for the sake of making you feel protected and hopefully pleasing your eyes. I’ve never experienced a moment with you in my sight when my heart _didn’t_ feel like it was going to beat right out of my chest. I’ve never had sweet dreams _without_ your beauty gracing them. Is any of this getting through to you, Louis? Shall I continue?”

“Never stop,” Louis manages to say through a breath.

“Every moment you’re around, it’s like—”

“If this is your way of teasing me, Harry, I will quite literally kill you.”

“ _Teasing you_?! How could you possibly think that I would tease you about something like this?”

Louis huffs and crosses his arms, though his lips are turning up into a sly smile. “Well, you haven’t even properly told me that you love me yet.”

“That’s it?” Harry quirks, huffing a laugh and flinging his hands up. “I love you, Louis Tomlinson. I love you, I love you, I love you. Eye el-oh-vee-ee why-oh-you. Shall I say it in French? Je t’aime. Want it backwards? You love I. Pig Latin? Iway—”

“You’re teasing me now, yes?” 

Harry drops his hands and smiles a bit smugly. “Just a little. But I’ve _been_ telling you that I love you these past years. All the times you’ve given me orders, I’d reply with ‘as you wish’ and that’s all you’d ever heard, but I was _really_ saying ‘I love you’; you just never heard it.”

Louis clutches his heart with a hand, his eyes going awfully soft. “I hear it now, and I promise this: I will never love anyone else. Only you, dear Harry. Until my very death, and even beyond that.”

Harry purses his lips and nods, taking Louis’ hand and bringing it up to his lips to kiss gently, his thumb swiping over it to seal it in. “I’ll come back for you soon. I promise.”

“How can you be so sure?” Louis asks with a frown.

“This is true love. You think this happens every day?” Harry replies easily, smiling gently and leaning in to kiss Louis’ forehead. “I _promise_ I’ll be back.”

Louis sighs deeply. Promises are broken all the time, but he knows Harry wouldn’t lie to him. Not when he's spent all these years being nothing but loyal and patient. “Do you promise to keep me in your heart, too?”

“Always,” Harry promises, giving Louis’ hand a squeeze before gently letting go and stepping back. “I have to leave now. The ship is setting off for sail soon, and I can't risk being late.”

“I understand,” Louis sighs shakily, watching regretfully as Harry takes another step back. “Goodbye.”

Harry smiles and nods. “Goodbye.”

Louis smiles back.

Harry takes another step back.

Louis watches, his nails surely making indents into his hand.

Harry turns around and starts to walk.

“Without one kiss?” Louis blurts out, biting on his bottom lip roughly like he’s chastising himself for even thinking it and immediately stepping back. 

Harry turns back around and sets forward without missing a beat like he was waiting for it, and they fall into each other’s arms without another word. Their difference in size nearly makes Louis topple down onto the floor, but Harry’s strong arms keep him upright as he kisses him deeply.

Louis’ read countless romance stories and books detailing famous romances in history, all describing fits of passion and kisses that defy all things earthly. Louis’ sure he can rank the world’s most historical kisses, all based on a formula of equal parts intensity, tenderness, passion, and duration.

Louis’ _also_ completely, most definitely positive that this kiss leaves them all behind by a long shot.

 

 

After Harry’s leave, Louis spends the next few months doing all he can to ensure he’s in tip-top condition for when Harry returns. He grows stronger — though, it’s mostly due to the fact that he’s the one doing all the farm work now. His skin becomes even more golden and radiant — though, he supposes it’s from all the work he does out in the sun. 

So, okay, he isn’t exactly doing the most on his own, but the thought is definitely there. 

He thinks about what he’ll say when Harry returns to him finally, the way he’ll run and jump into Harry’s strong arms and attack him with kisses on every inch of his body. He thinks about the way they’ll hold hands while strolling by the shops downtown, and the way they’ll go on horse rides together through meadows. He thinks about all the things he might hear about Harry’s expedition, and all the things he’ll tell Harry he’s been keeping himself occupied with.

What he doesn’t think about, however, is the possibility of Harry _not_ returning to him. In fact, he doesn’t think about it so much to the point where the news of his ship being taken over by the Dread Pirate Roberts hits him like a dagger to the heart.

The Dread Pirate Roberts was notorious for invading ships and looting them of everything, and no matter how much Louis wants to believe Harry would’ve been able to make it through, the Dread Pirate Roberts was _most_ notorious for leaving none of his victims alive. 

He visits Harry’s hovel every night the week after finding out about the news, still wrapped up in denial. When his mum catches on, she has a talk with him about acceptance and how he can’t possibly continue beating himself up like this — not when Count Simon has suspiciously been making frequent trips for “cows”, but actually observing Louis and taking note of him for the Prince. 'Think about the opportunities' she'd said.

Louis visits Harry’s hovel one last time at midnight, standing right in front of his door like he had those months ago when he first proclaimed his love.

“Oh, Harry,” he sighs to the closed door, placing his palm flat against the oaky wood. “I shall never love again,” he vows quietly before taking a deep breath and turning on his heels to walk back inside.

And he never does. 


	2. ACT II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kidnappings, Shrieking Eels, Cliffs of Insanity, sword fights, poisonings, deadly fire swamps, quick sand, flesh-eating rodents. Just another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: violence/swordfighting, mentions of bullying, mentions of blood

Years pass before news of Prince Zayn choosing a hand-in-marriage finally courses through the country. Of course, the initial thought of marriage to a _man_ becomes the main subject of people’s conversations, but soon, all that people can talk about is his husband-to-be’s supposed beauty. Claims of glowing skin and eyes like the ocean and long, pretty eyelashes circulate around, and rumors of his other-worldly looks fuel the people of Florin’s excitement for the formal introduction ceremony. 

Louis’ close to his mid-twenties now, and not much has changed. He's let his hair grow a little more and he likes to convince himself he's grown a bit taller, but not much else is different. Of course, not including the fact that he lives in a castle with his soon-to-be-husband. So maybe not much has changed, but it still feels like his world is completely different now — yet, it’s almost like he can close his eyes and clearly see his last encounter with Harry. He can see his green, _green_ eyes and feel his hand cupping his cheek delicately, promising to come back for him. He can hear his comforting voice and smell his warm, oaky scent that reminds him so much of home. 

“Are you ready?” Zayn asks him when they’re up in the castle preparing for the ceremony, waking Louis from his daydream.

Louis nods lightly, staying quiet as the tailors and seamstresses all work around him to adjust his attire. 

Zayn smiles gently. "It's okay to be nervous, if you are. I've been 'Prince Zayn' all my life, yet I still get a bit antsy right before a big ceremony," he tries, though Louis can just smile weakly in response. 

He feels bad for not even _trying_ to make conversation, considering Zayn’s only been kind and understanding of his situation. In fact, he was _against_ the idea of marrying Louis after hearing about everything with Harry, but Count Simon had insisted upon Louis specifically due to his looks, and Zayn was honestly quite scared to say no to him.

 

The reveal goes by smoothly. The crowd gives a collective gasp once Louis steps out, and he can only look around numbly as they all gawk at his beauty. None of it matters. None of the riches or the attention or the praise or life itself. None of it matters when the one, true love of his life is _dead_. 

He finds it hard to find joy in anything now except for his daily horse ride, which Zayn graciously allows him to sneak away to a little after the festivities have started.

He rides away from the castle, only feeling like he can breathe once it’s out of sight and he’s deep within the woods, lost among the trees. It’s calming, in a way. The woodsy smell brings him back to his old life on the farm with Harry still around, and he figures it’s the closest he can ever get to him now.

He only stops when he comes across three men standing by a horse and carriage, one of them waving him down.

Louis furrows his eyebrows and brings his horse to a halt. “Is everything alright?”

The man who’d waved him down — a short, bald-headed man with the complexion of a Sicilian, Louis presumes — steps forward. “We are but poor, lost circus performers. Is there any village nearby?”

“No, sorry. Not nearby. Not for miles, at least,” Louis answers with a light frown, looking at the other two men. They don’t really _look_ like circus performers. One bloke is tall and beefy and has biceps bigger than his own head, probably. The other is a skinny bloke with messy hair dyed blond with his roots growing in. He wonders what kind of circus routine would call for such a trio.

The Sicilian smiles a devilish smile. “Then there will be no one to hear you scream.”

Before Louis can even catch on, one of the men — the beefy one with kind eyes but surely unforgiving biceps — has his hand over Louis’ mouth and the other pressing into a pressure point on his neck.

Then, blackness.

 

When Louis’ conscious again, the sun is completely gone and he’s on a boat. 

His breathing quickens as he looks around, trying to gather _any_ kind of familiarity with his surroundings. He has no luck, but he does familiarize himself with the three men who’d kidnapped him, currently bickering over something. 

“All I’m saying is that I don’t think we should _kill_ him. It’s not right. He’s just an innocent—” the beefy one who made him unconscious starts, flinching back a bit when the Sicilian whips back with a glare.

“Am I going mad, or did the word ‘think’ just come out of your mouth? As if an actual thought has ever come from you, you brainless _idiot_ ,” the Sicilian scoffs before turning back to look at a map of some sort rolled out on top of a cabinet. 

“I agree with Liam,” the other man says reluctantly, the blond bloke with a sword attached to his hip. “What’s the point of killing him? We’ll already cause a stir once the people of Florin realize he’s been kidnapped.”

The Sicilian pounds a fist against the cabinet before turning back.

“What’s the point? Do I need to simplify the situation to you even _more_? The _point_ is to have the Prince believe the people of Guilder killed his beloved husband-to-be and therefore be angry enough to start a war,” he scoffs, walking over to point an accusatory finger at the blond man. “And don’t you _ever_ question me again, Niall, or I swear I’ll have you back to how you were when I first met you: pathetic and _crying_ on the floor, too drunk to even buy yourself another pint!”

The blond man — _Niall_ — steps back slightly at that, nodding slowly as he casts his eyes down on the floor. The beefy man — _Liam_ , Louis reckons — gives Niall a light pat on the shoulder, smiling comfortingly before walking over to observe the map again.

Louis bites his lip as they all continue to bicker about the directions, wondering if he’d be able to get away with crawling off the boat and swimming away without them noticing. He purses his lips and slowly gets on all fours to crawl, looking behind his shoulder cautiously before trying to quickly crawl up onto the ledge of the boat.

“Liam! Get him!” he can hear the Sicilian hiss, and before he can make a quick jump, he's already got hands pulling him back.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about this..” Liam says quietly with an apologetic smile before pressing at Louis’ pressure point again.   
And then, blackness.

Again.

 

When Louis wakes up a _second_ time, it appears to be nearing dawn and they’re _still_ on a boat. He scrunches his nose and rubs at his pounding head a bit, thinking he probably hit it against the floor of the boat when he passed out.

The Sicilian is yelling at them again, and Louis wonders why he hadn’t picked a more competent duo in the first place when assembling his team. He’s sure the Sicilian wonders the same thing.

“Why are you doing that? You’re making me paranoid,” he grumbles at Niall, who’s currently looking out at the sea.

“Just making sure no one’s following us, sir,” Niall says, turning his head back.

The Sicilian snorts and shakes his head. “That’d be absolutely inconceivable. You think I would be dumb enough to get us caught?”

Louis manages to get himself to sit up properly, crossing his arms and looking at the Sicilian sitting by the bow of the boat.

“You won’t get away with this. The Prince _will_ catch you and _will_ have you hanged,” he threatens, though he highly doubts Zayn has any bone in his body that will allow him to do such a thing. Count Simon, on the other hand.. well, he’d be the sick fuck that would find _pleasure_ in doing it personally. 

The Sicilian raises an eyebrow over at Louis, snorting a bit and shaking his head.

“Out of all the necks on this boat, your highness, I’d be worrying about your own,” he says darkly.

“There’s nothing you can say to threaten me. I stopped caring about my life a long time ago,” Louis says, looking away as he thinks about these past few numb years.

The Sicilian narrows his eyes like he’s going to spit a threat, but he frowns at Niall instead as he catches him looking back out at the sea. 

“I told you to stop that, you paranoid dimwit.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” Niall purses his lips, looking back again. “Are you _sure_ no one’s following us?”

The Sicilian rolls his eyes. “As I said, that’d be absolutely, completely, entirely inconceivable. No one in Guilder knows what we’ve done, and there’s no way anyone in Florin would’ve been able to put the pieces together and catch up to us _this_ quickly,” he declares, resting back against the boat with eyes closed leisurely before opening his eyes and narrowing them slightly after a beat. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”

Niall waves the Sicilian off and shakes his head. “No reason. I just happened to look back and see someone behind us.”

The Sicilian’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head as he springs up to his feet, turning to look out at the water. 

Louis bites his lip and curiously stands up as well, sure enough seeing a boat with a tattered sail approaching them.

“That’s… that’s probably just a fisherman on a late night pleasure cruise,” the Sicilian says, clearly just coming up with excuses. “It couldn’t be anyone from Florin _or_ Guilder. That would be the most inconcei—”

Louis doesn’t hear the rest of what he says due to the fact that he’s managed to crawl up on the ledge of the boat and dive into the water, gasping for air once he floats up.

He hears more shouting on the Sicilian’s part, of course, followed by Niall saying something along the lines of ‘I can’t swim’ and Liam saying something along the lines of ‘I can only doggy-paddle, sir’. 

The Sicilian orders for them to steer the boat to get to Louis, though he stops screaming orders to smirk devilishly when he hears a faint screeching sound.

Louis stops swimming at the sound as well, floating in one spot as he looks around suspiciously. 

“You hear that? That’s the sound of the Shrieking Eels. They always get louder when they’re about to feast on _human flesh_ ,” the Sicilian says. Suddenly, as if on cue, the shrieks become louder. “If you swim back now, I promise no harm will come to you. I don’t know if I can say the same if you stay there in the water.”

Louis bites on his bottom lip. He obviously doesn't want to return to whatever fate awaits him on the boat, but he's also not that great of a swimmer — certainly not good enough to make it to land before his inevitable death by the eels. He gulps and reluctantly swims his way back towards the ship, but not before he hears the shrieks get louder.

He’s breathing a bit harder as he tries to swim faster, widening his eyes when he sees a sliver of an eel circling around him. 

He opens his mouth to scream just as it bursts out of the water with it’s mouth wide open, sharp teeth and all. Louis clenches his eyes shut as he prepares for death,and — 

He’s pulled back onto the boat by strong hands as he hears something that sounds like a slice of a sword, followed by a defeated whine.

He blinks and looks up, giving a nod of gratitude towards Liam and Niall, who both nod in response. He’s never been so grateful for kidnappers.

“You’re welcome,” the Sicilian grumbles, snatching Louis from Liam so he can tie his hands together to prevent any more escapes. Not that Louis would dare pull that shit again.

“I think he’s getting closer,” Niall warns, leaning against the ledge of the boat again with his eyes squinted to look across. 

“Ignore him and focus on sailing!” the Sicilian orders roughly, though the worry is evident in his tone. He looks back at Louis with narrowed eyes. “I’ll bet you think you’re brave for pulling that little stunt, don’t you?”

“Only compared to some,” Louis replies with a unwavering glare, knowing that back-talking probably isn’t the best thing he could do to the bloke who decides if he lives or dies, but he’s lost any amount of possible care that may have accumulated during his previous endeavor with the eels.

“Look! He’s catching up to us!” Liam says, causing both Niall and the Sicilian to whip their heads back.

“Well, whoever he is, he’s too late. We’re here — the Cliffs of Insanity!” the Sicilian announces proudly, looking back towards where the ship is headed.

Louis’ only heard bits and pieces about the Cliffs, most of them sounding like mere tall tales, if anything. He’s heard about the deathly high heights and jagged rocks that make it impossible for _anyone_ to make it up alive, and he’s also heard that they’re just regular cliffs that some man wanted to claim as his own, so he started the rumor so no one would try and bother him.

The latter was definitely not true.

Louis stares up at the Cliffs in half-amazement and half-fear, amazed that he’ll be able to tell his friends back home about how he’d made it up alive, but a bit fearful of the high possibility of _not_ making it up alive.

Of course, as he said before, he doesn’t care whether he lives or dies anymore. Not when his heart has been — metaphorically — ripped from his chest ever since the day he heard the news of Harry’s death. But the thought of falling to his death or jagged rocks puncturing him till he bleeds out… well, maybe he cares just a bit now.

He’s brought back to reality when he feels Liam untying his hands and tugging him along out of he boat, furrowing his eyebrows slightly.

“You don’t _actually_ think we’ll make it up there alive, do you?” Louis demands of the Sicilian, who just huffs a laugh and hands Liam some kind of harness with various loops that look like belts to fit around other people. He doesn’t like the looks of this.

“Why? Is someone afraid of dying now?” the Sicilian sneers as he checks back on the boat following them, which is approaching dangerously closer and closer. He glares before walking over to Liam and attaching one of the loops around him, Niall following the action. Louis purses his lips before reluctantly doing the same, figuring he’d rather take the chance than deal with whoever is on the ominous boat quickly approaching them.

There’s already a rope hanging down along the Cliffs that the Sicilian must’ve somehow set up before. Louis clenches his eyes shut as Liam grabs onto the robe and starts to climb, all three men attached to him.

“Jesus Christ. How is this even _possible_ ,” Louis mutters to himself, keeping his eyes shut as he clings onto Liam tightly. 

“Liam used to be quite the fighter; isn’t that right, Liam?” the Sicilian says almost tauntingly, though he hasn’t got the same bit of bite in his tone. Probably due to the fact that Liam could accidentally slip and cause their death at any moment.

“You know I don’t — _urgh_ — like talking about that,” Liam grunts out, pulling them all up all along the rope a bit slowly yet steadily. 

“Um, Li? Do you think you could climb a bit faster?” Niall asks with a concerned tone, and if Louis had his eyes open, he’d probably see a frown plastered on his face.

“This is the best I can do. Why?” 

“Oh, nothing. It’s just… the man on the boat is now climbing up after us.”

Each of the men — except Liam, who thankfully keeps his eyes up as he climbs — widen their eyes and look down. Sure enough, there’s a man dressed in all black, along with a black headscarf and a black mask around his eyes, climbing up below them.

“ _Inconceivable_!” the Sicilian shouts, to which Liam scrunches his nose at as a response.

“Please don’t yell; I have sensitive ears.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” the Sicilian quickly says, taking a deep breath as he looks up. “We’re not too far from the top now, and he _surely_ can’t make it up much higher. No average man can.”

“I have a feeling this is no average man,” Niall comments under his breath, though not quiet enough to keep the Sicilian from glaring at him.

Louis keeps his eyes clenched shut for the rest of the climb, blocking out the shouted orders from the Sicilian and apologetic words from Liam so he can focus on calming his nerves. He doesn’t know what’s worse: the possibility of the Man in Black catching up with them or whatever awaits him once they make it up to the Cliffs. Surely they wouldn't kill him right away, right? If they wanted to kill him, they would've done so when they first encountered him in the woods; they wouldn't have gone all through this trouble just to end his life. At least, that's what Louis would like to convince himself.

Louis lets out a deep breath once they miraculously make it to the top, beyond relieved and surprised they’d managed to actually make it up in one piece. He sits back against some nearby boulders to rest as Niall helps Liam up. The Sicilian scurries over to start cutting at the rope attached to a boulder with a small dagger to prevent the Man in Black from climbing any higher.

He hears a lot of grunts and grumbles coming from the Sicilian's end before finally hearing a, “Ha!”, followed by the sound of the rope slithering away and down the Cliffs.

Louis watches as all three men quickly go towards the ledge to watch, furrowing his eyebrows as the Sicilian gasps.

“He has very good arms,” Liam comments, which Louis takes as a sign that the Man in Black has somehow managed to hang on.

“He didn’t fall? _Inconceivable_!” 

“You keep using that word. I don’t think it means what you think it means,” Niall says with a thoughtfully furrowed brow before looking back down and raising his eyebrows. “Christ, he’s climbing the rocks!”

Louis wonders if he can maybe crawl away and escape again while they’re distracted, but he’s unsure what awaits him on the Cliffs and he’d much rather not encounter any possible creatures defenseless.

“He’s obviously seen us take Louis and therefore must die,” the Sicilian insists, turning over and looking at Louis. “Liam, you carry the boy. We have to move fast. Niall, you stay here and make sure he dies — whether it be from falling or from your sword.”

Niall smirks and pulls his sword from its scabbard. “I want to duel him right-handed.”

The Sicilian rolls his eyes as Liam goes to pick Louis up over his shoulder with another quiet ‘sorry’.“You know what a rush we’re in!”

“I’ll only be satisfied if I use my right hand. If I use my left, it’s just a few hits and it’s over,” Niall tuts with a shake of his head, already practicing a few sword thrusts in mid-air with his right hand.

The Sicilian huffs a frustrated breath before waving Niall off. “Have it your way. Just don’t take too long.”

Liam sighs lightly as he turns back to Niall, swinging Louis’ body in the process. “Be careful. Men in masks cannot be trusted.”

Niall smiles and shakes his head. “Neither can Irish men with vengeance in their blood,” he murmurs back smugly.  


A laugh bubbles out of Liam before he waves Niall off, turning back around to follow the Sicilian and causing Louis to groan at his dizziness. He’s sure whatever trip they’re about to set off to now will be a long one.

 

Niall’s buzzing with excitement at the thought of a duel with an opponent _actually_ worth his time, practicing a few more fencing moves in thin air before deciding it’d only be right to introduce himself. He draws his sword back into its scabbard, padding over towards the ledge.

“Hello there!” he calls out, waving with a wide grin down at the Man in Black. “Hanging in there alright?”

The Man in Black grunts in response as he searches around for his next move. “I don’t mean to be rude, but this is a lot harder than it seems, so it’d be nice if you could refrain from distracting me.”

Niall raises his hands up in apology. “You’ve got it, mate. Sorry,” he says, before returning to his practicing. He waits a few moments before pausing and pursing his lips, going over by the ledge again. 

“Would you like some help?”

The Man in Black grunts again as he looks up. “You could lower that rope you so kindly cut earlier.”

“Really? You’d accept the rope from me, even with the knowledge of the fact that I’m killing you as soon as you make it up here?”

The Man in Black pauses, as if he hadn’t considered it, before sighing. “I suppose that _does_ put a bit of a damper on our relationship.”

Niall cackles brightly, clapping his hands together. This Man in Black fellow seems like quite a party. If he wasn’t so set on beheading him left-handed, he may just be tempted to keep him around as a friend.

“I promise I will not kill you until you reach the top,” he tries, giving the Man in Black a small nod.

“Thanks, but ‘m afraid you’re just going to have to wait.”

“Even if I give you my word as an Irish man?”

The Man in Black shakes his head. “That’s no good to me. I’ve known far too many Irish men.”

Niall cackles again, shaking his head slightly in disbelief at how he’s only just now managed to meet this bloke. He sighs as he thinks of what he can possibly say to prove his reliability, pursing his lips as he looks back down, his eyebrows furrowing slightly and gaze turning steely.

“I swear on the soul of my father, Bobby Horan, that you will make it to the top alive,” he says, his tone giving no room for any jokes or lightheartedness.

The Man in Black seems to contemplate for a moment before looking back up. “Toss the rope down.” 

Niall goes over to grab the remaining bit of rope, which is luckily more than long enough to reach the Man in Black. The Man in Black grabs onto the end, and Niall grunts as he pulls with every bit of strength within him. He pulls and pulls and pulls until finally toppling over along with the Man in Black making it up in one piece.

“Thank you,” he says with a small nod, getting up on his feet and dusting himself off.

“Go ahead and collect yourself. I’m in no hurry,” Niall insists, wanting it to be a _fair_ duel and not when the Man in Black is still tired and disoriented from climbing.

“You’re very gracious,” the Man in Black says, giving a nod before going over to sit on a nearby boulder. He removes his boots to dump out any bits of rock that may have made their way inside, stretching his back a bit in the process.

Niall narrows his eyes slightly as he watches, trying to catch sight of the Man in Black’s hands.

“I don’t mean to sound too forward, but do you happen to have six fingers on your right hand?”

The Man in Black pauses and looks up at Niall, holding up his right hand and wiggling his five fingers. “Is this usually how you greet your opponents?”

Niall laughs gently and shakes his head, sitting on the boulder across from the Man in Black and pulling his sword out to show the Man in Black. “My father was a sword maker back when he was still alive — the best in all of Ireland. One day, a man with six fingers came in to have a sword specially made for him. My father slaved for an entire year to craft it perfectly and when the man came by to pick it up, he tried taking it for only a tenth of what the original price was,” he scoffs, shaking his head slightly and handing his sword over to the Man in Black to inspect. There’s probably a rule somewhere that warns against providing your enemy with your own weapon, but he strangely trusts this man enough to go against that rule. Just for today. “My father refused to give it to him, of course, and the man stabbed my father right through his heart. Right in front of me. I challenged him once, but I was a rookie and ended up with these,” Niall sighs, pulling up his pant legs to show off two identical scars running along both knees. He drops his pant legs again, resting back against the boulder. “Since then, I’ve dedicated my entire life to the study of fencing, and the next time I come across that good-for-nothing bloke, I’ll say, ‘Hello, my name is Niall Horan. You killed my father. Prepare to die’ and I’ll duel him to his death.”

The Man in Black raises his eyebrows in amusement — not that Niall can tell, seeing as he’s wearing a mask — as he inspects the sword, placing his fingers on the hilt meant for six fingers.

“You use this sword?” he asks as he hands it back to Niall, sitting back down on the boulder to empty his other boot.

Niall nods solemnly. “It’s the only thing my father left behind. I figure it’ll be ironic, too, when I end up killing the son-of-a-bitch with the sword he was meant to have.”

The Man in Black chuckles and nods, pulling on both boots. “Ironic, indeed. You seem like a very noble man with a very noble cause. What are you doing kidnapping the Prince of Florin’s future husband?”

“Thank you. You don’t seem so bad yourself,” Niall replies with a nod, realizing this may be the strangest start to a duel he’s ever had. “Revenge is a lot more expensive than you’d think. All the travel and food costs to get to the man I’m after… they add up, and I need money for it,” he says with a shrug, not mentioning the fact that he’s been in a bit of a drunken, hopeless slump for the past few years and mostly accepted the job to have more money for more booze.

“Makes sense. Well, I’m ready when you are,” the Man in Black says, finally standing up and unsheathing his sword with his left-hand. Niall _knew_ there was a reason he was so likable. 

Niall stands up and unsheathes his sword with his right hand, getting into stance. “You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you.”

The Man in Black nods in agreement, getting into stance as well. “You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die.”  


And with that, their duel begins. Swords clanking and the sound of metal whipping against the air — music to Niall’s ears. He’s forgotten the thrill of fighting a worthy opponent, and he’s new to the thrill of fighting with his non-dominant hand. It’s almost as if a bit of life is brought back into his face, a spark returning to his eyes.

The Man in Black is much more persistent than he anticipated, though, and after a few minutes of swords crossing and dancing around each other, Niall’s amazed.

“You’re _wonderful_!” he exclaims, jumping up onto a boulder to try and gain up on the Man in Black, who simply just jumps onto the other.

“Thanks — I’ve worked quite hard for it,” the Man in Black replies, hopping onto the boulder Niall’s on to try and get in closer.

Niall’s quicker, though, already jumping to the next and slashing his sword diagonally once he knows the Man in Black is about to pounce. He swerves out of the way just in time, bending back so it just barely misses him before standing back up straight. 

“I have to admit it —you’re much better than me,” Niall grunts, admittedly a bit out-of-breath from jumping and ducking and swinging around.

“Then how come you’re smiling?” the Man in Black asks after a moment, stepping back a bit as they both pant for breath.

Niall’s grin widens. “Because I know something you don’t know.”

“And what might that be?”

Niall tosses his sword to his left hand, his fingers comfortably finding their place. His smile broadens even more as he notes the Man in Black’s curious frown. “I’m not right-handed.”

The Man in Black drops his jaw a bit in surprise before quickly reacting to Niall swinging towards him, clearly relentless now that he’s got something to prove.

“You’re amazing!” the Man in Black exclaims after a particularly close call to his groin, retreating back against some rocky terrain.

“Thank you. I ought to be after all my years of studying,” Niall says, feeling much more energetic than before now that he’s back on his dominant hand.

“I should tell you something, though,” the Man in Black says, sounding quite out-of-breath from all the energy he’s put into deflecting Niall’s hits.

“And what is that?”

The Man in Black tosses his sword to his right hand, much to Niall’s surprise. And dismay.

“I’m not left-handed.”

And with that, they’re back to the same effort and intensity as they were at before, only this time it’s _really_ real.

Niall’s dumbfounded after a few minutes of recycled moves. He’s tried everything. He’s done every maneuver, jab, counter, block he knows, and yet the Man in Black still persists. He’s angry and frustrated with himself, but he’s also beyond astonished.

“Who _are_ you?! I must know,” Niall demands, wiping some sweat from his forehead once he’s retreated away from the boulder they were currently fighting on.

“Get used to disappointment,” the Man in Black replies, jumping off the boulder right beside Niall and slashing his sword a few more unrelenting times. One particular hit sends Niall’s sword flying out of his hand all the way across the terrain, leaving Niall defenseless and jaw-dropped. 

The Man in Black backs him up against some boulders, his sword deathly close to his neck.

“Kill me quickly,” Niall says with a resigned sigh, knowing that if he’s to be killed by anyone, it _must_ be this… this sword wizard.

The Man in Black tuts and shakes his head. “I’ve known far too many Irish men to know better than to kill one, especially one as noble as yourself. Bad luck, and all. I can’t have you following me, though. Just know I hold you in the highest respect,” he says before knocking Niall out with the hilt of his sword, catching him just before he falls and possibly hits any rocks. He carries him over to where his sword was hit out of his hand, setting him down carefully before sheathing his sword and running off after the footsteps leading away.

 

The Sicilian, much to his disapproval, witnesses the Man in Black running up along the mountain path where their footprints are lingering.

“Inconceivable! Give me the boy,” he gruffs, tugging Louis out of Liam’s hold and pointing down towards the Man in Black. “I want him _dead_. Catch up when he no longer has a pulse,” he orders before running off with Louis’ tied up wrists in his hand. 

Liam sighs lightly and sits against a boulder, waiting patiently for the Man in Black to arrive. He doesn’t look forward to the idea of fighting, let alone _killing,_ someone who clearly has worked so hard to get to where he is now.

He looks up from the medium-sized rock he’s inspecting when he hears footsteps, sighing lightly before standing up. He waits until the Man in Black is in sight before throwing the rock right at his head. Well, right _beside_ his head.

He was ordered to kill him, yes, but the least he can do is provide a warning.

The Man in Black jumps slightly and whips his head over, immediately drawing his sword.

“I didn’t need to miss,” Liam says as he grabs another rock, inspecting the Man in Black’s height and overall size. He looks a bit taller than him and perhaps even as broad, but certainly not as strong and muscly. His eyes then drop down to the sword gripped in his right hand. Clearly if he defeated Niall, he knows what he’s doing with that thing. “Why don’t you put that down and I’ll put this rock down and we can just use our bare hands. To be fair.” 

The Man in Black hesitates to contemplate the choices before reluctantly nodding and sheathing his sword. “It seems as if you’re an advantage, anyways. You’re massive.”

Liam gives a sheepish shrug as he tosses the rock aside. “I do push-ups sometimes.”

“Hm. With cinderblocks on your back?” 

Liam smiles a crinkly-eyed smile, laughing and shaking his head. “Okay, maybe I used to do some street-fighting, too. Boxing, wrestling… anything involving taking on beefy men.”

The Man in Black hums and stretches his back, cracking his knuckles as he most likely tries to plan out his moves. “Then what are you doing kidnapping the Prince of Florin’s future husband?” he asks curiously, figuring he may as well give this bloke the chance to redeem himself as well.

Liam sighs and shakes his head. “I just thought I was helping out some poor, old Sicilian man. He wasn’t very specific when he approached me. He just said ‘I need help with a very delicate operation and you seem like the perfect guy for it’. I thought maybe it could be a way for me to break out of this awful mold I’ve been in for years and be seen as ‘Liam: the nice, helper guy’ instead of a fighter,” he says, starting to take steps towards the Man in Black with his fists clenched and ready. “I never liked fighting. I used to be bullied, and that forced me to learn how to defend myself. Some people caught onto what a good fighter I was and made a spectacle out of it. Out of _me._ My parents needed the extra money, so I was stuck doing street fights where people would bet on me; I was seen as some kind of fighting-monster for years.” Liam frowns at the memory, remembering the nervous whispers and terrified glances he’d get just by walking into town for some apples. “I promise I’m not, though. I hate the idea of hurting people now,” he says as he swiftly puts the Man in Black into a headlock. “And I’m really sorry about this. I’m sure you’re a great guy, and all, but I have orders— _oof_.”

He doesn't finish because the Man in Black somehow manages to wiggle out of his grip after elbowing him right in the sternum.

“How could a bloke like you get bullied? You seem like a delight,” the Man in Black tuts through a small cough for air, stepping back quickly before Liam can respond with another move.

Liam breathes a bit roughly while clutching his chest from the unexpected blow, shrugging his shoulders as he hunches over. “I was a loser. Had no friends. Had nothing, really. Except a poor choice in haircuts,” he murmurs, standing back up straight after regaining his breath and abruptly swinging at the Man in Black’s jaw. He goes down easily. _Too_ easily, for someone that has somehow outdone Niall, and he wonders if he even hit his jaw in the first place.

His suspicions are immediately confirmed once he feels the Man in Black crawling in between his legs and kicking at the back of his knees, causing him to stumble forward.

“You’re quick on your feet!”

“And you throw a hefty punch. Maybe someday we can learn from each other,” the Man in Black offers, getting down on the ground again to roll through Liam’s legs once he gets back up. He puts Liam in a headlock then, grunting as he tries to restrain him.

“You’re — _ung —_ a good — _agh_ — fighter,” Liam strains, trying and failing to elbow the Man in Black and break from his hold, but he’s just too damn _quick_. When he tries to elbow back against his chest, the Man in Black manages to tilt his body away and tighten his lock around Liam’s neck. When he tries pushing the Man in Black back against some of the boulders, the Man in Black turns them quickly so _Liam’s_ the one hitting against the boulders. It’s unlike anything he’s taken on before. He’s used to men bigger than him or men in groups — not men alone and close to own size. 

He just doesn’t know what to focus on, and it’s bit infuriating. Somehow, though, it’s a bit of a relief. It’s like redemption, making up for all those years of being gawked at and feared. Hah! If only they could see him now, being choked down to his knees by a slender man clearly much quicker on his feet.

“Snapping my neck would kill me faster,” Liam huffs through gasps for air, his vision blurring and words slowing down.

“Kill you? I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to make you unconscious, though — can’t have you stopping me from continuing my journey, and all,” the Man in Black tuts, not loosening his hold around Liam’s neck but also not tightening it anymore.

“Understandable,” Liam wheezes out before immediately going limp, falling forward — gracefully, thanks to the Man in Black’s hold — as his world goes to blackness.

 

 

Louis hasn’t the slightest idea where he is or what the Sicilian has done, but he knows that he’s been sitting blindfolded with his hands tied together listening to the Sicilian grumble to himself for the past ten minutes or so.

Eventually, he hears footsteps approaching and immediately feels something cool against his neck… almost like a sharp metal or— oh god, a _dagger._ Louis swallows thickly and straightens up a bit, trying his hardest to keep calm.

“Looks like it’s just up to you and me now,” the Sicilian says to, whom Louis assumes to be, the Man in Black. He hears reluctant footsteps, followed by the pressure of the dagger increasing against his neck. “If you want me to slit his throat, by all means, keep walking forward.”

“Let me explain…” the Man in Black says slowly, his voice sending unwarranted shivers down Louis’ spine. 

“There’s nothing to explain. You’re trying to take what _I’ve_ rightfully kidnapped, and it _won’t_ work,” the Sicilian says, tutting and pressing the dagger even _closer_ against Louis’ neck. Louis gasps slightly, almost wanting to murmur a ‘please’ if he wasn’t so unsure whether or not using his vocal chords would cause his death. “You’re killing him.”

“Perhaps we can make an arrangement.” 

The Sicilian laughs tauntingly. “Please. I’m no match for you physically, and you’re certainly no match for me mentally.”

“Are you really that smart?” the Man in Black questions.

“Let’s put it this way: have you heard of Aristotle? Socrates?”

“Yes.”

“Morons.”

Louis wants to snort and bite out a smart comment, but he knows that by the way the dagger is still pressed up against his neck, that wouldn’t be the smartest decision.

“Really? In that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits for the Prince.”

Louis can’t see, but he’s sure the Sicilian has his eyebrow raised in amusement with a smug look.

“To the death?” the Sicilian questions, to which the Man in Black probably responds with a nod since the Sicilian starts chuckling darkly. “I accept.”

“Good. Pour some wine,” the Man in Black says. 

The pressure of the dagger is relieved from his neck just as he hears the Man in Black’s footsteps approach, and Louis wonders what he meant by ‘pour the wine’. Had the Sicilian set up some sort of picnic for himself while waiting for the Man in Black to arrive? Had there been wine available this entire time? He certainly could use a glass or two. 

He can only hear some shuffling as he assumes the Man in Black gets settled across from the Sicilian.

“This,” the Man in Black starts, presumably showing something to the Sicilian, “is iocane powder. Take a smell.”

Louis scrunches his nose as he hears the Sicilian take a noisy, indulgent whiff of whatever the Man in Black has.

“I smell nothing.”

“Exactly. That’s because iocane powder is odorless, tasteless, instantly dissolvable in liquid, and is one of the most deadliest poisons known to man.”

“You’ve got my attention,” the Sicilian says with an amused tone.

Louis is curious as to what’s happening, seeing as all he can hear is some shifting and a bit of glasses clinking. He can only settle for the assumption that the Man in Black pours some of the poison powder into one of the wine glasses, then mixes them up behind his back. 

“Alright, which one is the poison in? You pick your glass and I’ll drink the other, and we’ll see if you’re truly as smart as you say you are if you remain alive,” the Man in Black finally asks after a few moments.

“Oh, but it’s all so _simple_!” the Sicilian declares, laughing lightly as he claps his hands. “A _clever_ man would put the poison into his own glass, knowing very well that only an _idiot_ would reach the glass right in front of him. I'm not an idiot, so I obviously can’t choose the wine in front of you. But you must have known I was not an idiot, so obviously I can’t choose the wine in front of me.”

“So it’s decided?”

“Not yet! You've beaten Liam which means you're strong and quick on your feet, meaning you could’ve put the poison in your own glass and trusted your strength to save you. Therefore, I obviously can’t choose the wine in front of you. But, you've also beaten Niall, which means you must’ve done your studying. Throughout your studies, you’ve learned that man is mortal and therefore you would have put the poison as far away from yourself as possible, so I obviously can’t choose the wine in front of _me_.”

“You’re trying to trick me into giving away the correct answer, aren’t you?” 

“It’s already worked. You’ve given _everything_ away. I know exactly which cup has the poison in it.”

“Then make your decision,” the Man in Black insists, yet with his tone lacks any impatience. Louis feels odd shivers running down his spine again.

“I will. And I choose — what in the _world_ is that?!” the Sicilian gasps, and Louis instinctively wants to whip his head towards wherever the Sicilian is pointing before remembering he can’t exactly see. 

“What? I don’t see anything.”

“Hmph. I must’ve mistaken a tree branch or something else. Let’s drink now.”

Louis hears the Sicilian chuckle quietly to himself as they pick up their glasses, and he almost wants to say something to warn the Man in Black, but he realizes he shouldn’t help out the _other_ man who is probably out to kill him as well.

“How come you’re laughing?” the Man in Black asks. Smart lad.

“I’ll tell you after we drink,” the Sicilian says, and with that, Louis hears glasses clink and liquids being gulped down.

“You guessed wrong,” the Man in Black says, and Louis’ heart quickens at the thought of either of them dying at any second now, leaving him alone with the other. He isn’t sure who he’d feel more safe with at this point.

The Sicilian laughs roaringly in delight. “You just _think_ I guessed wrong, which makes this situation so funny! I switched the glasses when you turned your back, you fool! And to think you actually believed you had a chance against me. There’s one thing you would’ve known already if you really were as smart as you thought you were, and that’s to _never_ challenge a Sicilian!”

The Sicilian continues to laugh loudly, clapping his hands in delight before abruptly stopping, followed by a loud thud. Kind of like a body falling over. 

Louis’ lips part when he puts the pieces together, breathing a bit harder as he feels hands untying the blindfold around his eyes. He blinks a few times to adjust to the sunlight, furrowing his eyebrows at the Man in Black as he unties his hands.

“Who are you?” he demands, unable to pick up much of his facial features due to the mask and headscarf covering up most of his face.

“I’m no one to be trifled with,” the Man in Black replies simply, tossing the rope and blindfold aside before helping Louis to his feet. 

Louis furrows his eyebrows, looking back at the Sicilian’s limp body laying on its side. “And to think the poison was in _your_ glass.”

“Both glasses were poisoned. For these past few years, I’ve built up an immunity to iocane powder.”

Louis frowns and scrunches his nose, just keeping quiet as he pretends it makes any sense. He follows the Man in Black — as if he has any other choice with the way he’s tugging him along like a rag doll — through some mountain passes and up some hills. They’ve made it up a particularly high hill when Louis starts slowing down, breathing heavily.

The Man in Black lets go of his wrist and steps back.

“Catch your breath,” he insists, turning around to look around and down the hill as if to map out his next move.

“If you think you’ll be able to kidnap me without consequence, you’re gravely mistaken,” Louis huffs out through some of his heavy breaths, knowing it probably sounds a bit hypocritical considering he’d just been kidnapped by three men without any soldiers coming to his aid right away. It’s worth a shot, though.

“Oh? Are you expecting your dearest love to save you? Prince Zayn, is it?” the Man in Black questions, almost tauntingly. 

“I never said he was my dearest love,” Louis bites back with narrowed eyes. “But yes, he will save me.”

“You admit to not loving your own fiancé?”

“He already knows I don’t.”

“I think you mean ‘am not capable’, Prince.”

Louis can feel his insides start to flame at that, his fists clenching. “I’m more capable of loving than a low-life criminal like yourself could ever even _dream_ of being.”

The Man in Black turns back to Louis, pauses for a moment before approaching him with his hand balled in a fist like he’s about to punch. Louis clenches his eyes shut and flinches, but the Man in Black just bends down and gets close to Louis’ face.

“Where I come from, liars are to be punished. Next time, I won’t be so forgiving,” the Man in Black warns before standing back up straight and walking away again to look down the hill.

Louis clenches his jaw, furrowing his eyebrows as he inspects the Man in Black. He pauses a moment before his eyes narrow. “I know _exactly_ who you are. The Dread Pirate Roberts. Admit it now.”

The Man in Black turns back at Louis and gives a smug bow. “With pride.”

Louis’ eyes turn dark and angry as he stands up with his shaking fists clenched. “You killed the love of my life.”

The Man in Black hums pensively and leans his head side-to-side. “That’s possible; I do kill a lot of people. Tell me about this love — was he spoiled and rich, like this Prince Zayn you’re about to marry?”

“Not in the slightest,” Louis snaps back bitterly. “He was a farm boy. Poor and perfect. Had the most beautiful, mesmerizing green eyes,” he says, turning away and closing his eyes. “The most beautiful hair, too. Long curls he’d have to tie up whenever he was outside. Sometimes even a few springy bits would—”

“Right, yes, I remember. Hm… Harry, was it?”

Louis stays quiet, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“Ah, have I struck a nerve?” The Man in Black’s tone is far too full of amusement for Louis’ liking, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d assume he was teasing. “If it helps to know, he died very nobly. No crying or bribes or embarrassing tantrums. He did plead, though. He said, ‘Please… I need to live..’ and I asked what for. He said, ‘true love’. Can you believe that? He talked about some boy he’d left back home with eyes like the sea after a storm and skin as golden as a sunset. I suppose that must be _you_ he was referring to, but you should be thankful I ended his life before he found out what you’re really like.”

Louis doesn’t have the time to swoon over how Harry had described him due to the last part of what the Man in Black says. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he mentioned how heartbroken you seemed when he left and how desperate he was to get back. Clearly you weren't that heartbroken, given your engagement to Prince Zayn. Tell me, your highness, did you run off with your boy the second you found out the news? Or did you wait a week out of respect for the dead?”

Louis gasps slightly in shock at his statement, his blood boiling deep within him. “I _died_ that day,” Louis all but yells, his eyes clear and icy as he narrows them over at the Man in Black. “And you can die, too, for all I care,” he hisses before pushing the Man in Black square in the chest forcefully, his face cold and unforgiving as he watches him tumble down the steep hill.

He’s about to turn and start running away for help until he hears the faint and shaky yelled response of, “As… you… wish!”, growing fainter as the Man in Black — fuck, _Harry_ — tumbles down further.

Louis’ eyes nearly shoot out of his head as he whips over to look back down at the body tumbling, feeling like the air has been sucked out of him. “Harry?! Oh my god — my love.. What have I done?” he gasps, biting his lip for a moment before abruptly — but not without thought — diving down to tumble after Harry, grunting and groaning with every rock lodging against his side or boulder bruising his ribs. Still, he’s too buzzed with the knowledge of Harry being _here_ and _alive_ to care. Louis could cry from happiness. In fact, tears do well up in his eyes, but they’re mostly from his crotch landing directly against a particularly hard boulder. 

Once Louis finally comes to a stop at the end of the hill, his body is surely covered in bruises. He’s sure he’s also got a few cuts here and there, but he’s never felt so rejuvenated in his life. He turns his head as Harry crawls towards him, his breath catching in his throat when he realizes Harry’s mask and headscarf have fallen off. 

He’s just as beautiful as he remembers; his eyes are still the same electric green that still shock his very soul and — his _hair_. Oh god, his hair is _short_. Short, but beautiful and showing off his face perfectly.

“Are you alright? Can you move?” Harry asks with his tone soft and concerned as he holds Louis in his arms, cradling his cheek in his hand.

Louis just stares at Harry in disbelief, placing his hand over Harry’s. “Move? You’re here now. I can _fly,_ if you want me to.”

Harry smiles and looks at Louis with amusement. “I promised you I would come back. Why didn’t you wait?”

“I thought you were dead!” Louis insists, though clearly now it doesn’t quite work as an excuse.

“Even death cannot stop true love. It just delays it for a while.”

Louis grins and laughs gently. “Well, then I promise to never doubt you again.”

“There will never be a need,” Harry insists before pulling Louis up to meet his lips, which Louis can truly note as the most tender, loving, sweet kiss the world has ever seen. Even more than their goodbye kiss years ago, but probably not as intense as their kisses to come. The idea already has Louis eager.

Harry breaks the kiss to look up in the distance, Louis’ eyes following after. He frowns when he sees men on horses riding along the hill, wondering how they even managed to get horses up the Cliffs. Louis will be _awfully_ pissed if he finds out there was a shortcut. 

“Is that...”

Louis gasps. “It’s Count Simon. Zayn must’ve sent him here to rescue me.”

Harry tuts and stands up, brushing off his knees before offering his hand out to help Louis up. “Can’t have that happening, can we?” 

Louis shakes his head, because as ecstatic as he’s sure Zayn would be to know that he’s safe and alive and reunited with his love that he’s been moping about all these years, he doesn’t think Count Simon would be as understanding. He _had_ spent years researching to find the perfect husband for Zayn, after all.

“The only way out is through the fire swamp,” Harry says casually, perhaps speaking a bit quicker so Louis doesn’t even catch the last part. Louis’ got a good ear, though. Especially when death traps are mentioned.

“The _fire swamp_? We’ll never make it out alive, Harry,” Louis insists with his eyebrows knitted and a frown spread across his lips.

Harry waves him off. “You’re just saying that because no one ever has. We’ll be fine — we made it up the Cliffs of Insanity, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, with the help of a bloody _giant_ and a pre-arranged rope!”

“I don’t think Liam would appreciate you calling him a giant. He has feelings too, y’know,” Harry scolds lightly, leading the way through some trees and bushes until they’re confronted with what Louis assumes is the fire swamp. 

“Is this it, then?” he asks a bit nervously, subconsciously squeezing Harry’s hand just a bit tighter.

“What gave it away? The smell of smoke? The howls from unknown creatures sounding from inside? The dark, ominous look of it?”

“Mm, not quite,” Louis says, pointing over to a nearby boulder that has ‘DEATHLY FIRE SWAMP- ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK’ written on it with chalk along with a poorly drawn skull that looks more like a puppy.

“Well. It doesn’t say ‘don’t enter at all’, so surely it can’t be _that_ bad,” Harry tries, tugging Louis along with him despite his obvious resistance. He pulls his sword from its scabbard, holding it firmly in his right hand as he stays ahead. 

Louis huffs slightly. “What, are you going to slice the fire to death?”

Harry pauses for a moment before looking down at his sword with furrowed eyebrows, humming thoughtfully and drawing his sword back. “I suppose it’s a bit of a habit. Just trying to keep you safe, _Princess_ ,” he drawls with a small chuckle, swinging their hands a bit as if they’re just taking a romantic stroll along a beach and _not_ walking through a fiery, deathly swamp. It works, oddly enough.

“Oh, right. Prince Louis, being protected by _the_ Dread Pirate Roberts. A true fairytale coming alive,” Louis says, grinning before looking over at Harry quizzically. “How is that even possible, anyways? Surely you didn’t _actually_ escape from the Dread Pirate Roberts. Did you kill him, somehow?” 

“Kill him? Oh, no. I _became_ him,” Harry corrects, as if that makes any more sense. He quickly moves to carry Louis up by his waist to move him aside, just as fire spurts up from the ground. He sets him down casually, sighing lightly. “The ship I was on _did_ get overtaken by him. And what I said earlier, about that ‘please’, and all. That all happened, too. He was so taken back by my plea for life, as well as my description for your beauty, that he decided to keep me alive for the night. He said ‘Alright, Harry, you can have a night being my valet. I’ve never had one of those before. I’ll kill you in the morning’, but he didn’t. He’d say it every night, but I suppose he found me helpful and good company. Even taught me how to fence and fight, which is how I got this far,” he explains with a smug smile, easily lifting Louis away again as another spurt of fire shoots from the ground. “We became good friends — even traded some recipes. I can make a mean chicken wrapped in parma ham and stuffed with mozzarella. I’ll make it for you once we’re out of this mess.”  


Louis grins at the idea, even if he’s not so sure they ever actually will make it out. “That’d be lovely. I can… mash some potatoes for the side.”

“A lovely choice!” Harry lifts Louis in his arms as he starts stepping over some unsteady stones to avoid a pool of lava. “So, we became friends. One night, he calls me into his quarters and tells me, ‘I’m not the actual Dread Pirate Roberts. My name is Jeff. I inherited this ship and identity from a man named Ben, and I want you to inherit it next’. You see, Jeff had grown so rich that he was satisfied enough to retire, just as the previous Dread Pirate Roberts did, and just as the countless ones before him did. The _real_ Pirate Roberts has been living happily in retirement in a far-off island with his wife and children and grandchildren for over a decade now. I couldn’t change my title, though. Who’d take orders from Dread Pirate Harry? I wouldn’t.”  


“So you’ve killed people for their riches, then?” Louis asks with a small frown.

“No, it's not like that. Well, I mean, I did kill that Sicilian back there, but I have a feeling he didn’t have good intentions with you,” Harry says, setting Louis down on the ground once they make it over the lava. “I’ve been very careful these past years to ensure I’d stay out of any situations where a murder would be necessary. I’ve stolen and conned, yes, but only from those deserving of it. I’ve already acquired more than enough for a luxurious life for the two of us, so now it’s just a matter of me finding someone to take my place. I think I may’ve just met him earlier.”

“Which one? The giant or the Irish—” Louis doesn’t finish his sentence because he suddenly sinks into a pit of sand, pulling him down further and further by his feet before he can even realize it. “Oh my god! Harry! Help me!” he shouts just as Harry darts away, staring with his jaw hanging open before realizing he was just grabbing a nearby vine. 

He panics as he starts sinking down to chest, looking up and watching Harry desperately as he ties the vine around a branch hanging over them before tossing the end towards Louis. That doesn’t work so well, though, because Harry stumbles a bit and ends up slipping into the pit of sand as well.

“Well, this wasn’t supposed to happen,” Harry says with a frown, reaching over for the end of the vine with one arm and grabbing onto Louis’ arm with the other. “Hold on,” he orders, as if Louis would dare do anything else. Louis clenches his eyes shuts as he clings onto Harry’s arm, holding his breath as he listens to Harry grunt and groan while slowly pulling them both up. Louis would definitely be turned on by that if the situation wasn’t so deadly. 

Eventually, Louis opens his eyes to find them both laying on the ground out-of-breath and covered in sand. 

“Are you alright? Can you breathe?” Harry asks worriedly, shaking the sand out of his hair beforesitting up properly and leaning over to help dust the sand off of Louis.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Louis assures after a few heavy breaths, shaking his head lightly. “We’re not going to make it out, H, just face it. This was a mistake.”

“Naw, c’mon. We already made it past the flame spurts; no harm done there. We just made it past the sand pits, still in one piece.”

“What about the R.O.U.S.’s?” Louis asks, furrowing eyes and blinking a few times as he thinks he sees a big shadow of something behind Harry.

“The Rodents of Unusual Size? I don’t think they exist,” Harry says with a light chuckle as he gets up to his feet.

Louis sits up and squints behind Harry before widening his eyes at the sight of a rodent of unusual size.

“Harry, behind—” he tries warning, but the rodent jumps and attaches itself to Harry’s neck before he has the chance to finish. He gasps and crawls back quickly, knowing it isn’t exactly a _heroic_ reaction. But, dammit, he _hates_ rodents.

“Oh my god! They weren’t kidding!” Harry gasps, groaning and hissing as he tries whacking the child-sized rodent off from where it's currently clinging onto his back, which probably only causes it to bite harder. Damn rodents. “Stay right there, I got this!”

Louis scrunches his nose at Harry’s failed attempts to whack it off, wanting to tell him that he definitely _hasn’t_ got this, but he’s enjoying the exemption.

He watches Harry roll around and struggle with rodent, frowning guiltily and feeling so helpless before raising his eyebrow when Harry rolls so that the rodent is directly over a fire spurt, the rodent immediately screeching and eventually just whimpering as it’s scorched.

“Holy shit,” Louis breathes, going over to kneel by Harry’s side quickly once the singed rodent has scurried off. “Are you alright? You’re bleeding!”

Harry smiles and nods his head, a bit weak and tired, but not any less brilliant than usual. “I’m fine. A little blood here and there isn’t so bad,” he says, sitting up with a small groan before looking at his exposed, bloody shoulder and burnt shirt with a frown. “That was custom made.”

Louis narrows his eyes like he wants to be mad that _that_ is the biggest concern to Harry now, but the only thing he does is laugh breathlessly and pull Harry into his arms. 

“It’ll take more than just… spontaneous flames and deathly quicksand and R.O.U.S.’s to kill me,” Harry murmurs with a smile, kissing Louis’ cheek before using him as a clutch to stand up. He takes his hand again and leads the rest of the way out, looking around at the ominous scenery from before seeming to mellow out as they arrive closer to the end of the swamp. “On the bright side, that should be the last obstruction of the fire swamps.”

Louis doesn’t get his hopes up, expecting more creatures or deathly forces of nature to greet them at the last possible second. That doesn’t happen however, since the manage to _actually_ make it outside.

“Oh my god. We actually made it,” Louis says in disbelief, looking back at the swamp with a shake of his head. “That’s crazy.”  


“See? It wasn’t so bad, was it? Nothing can stop us now,” Harry says proudly, leaning in for a kiss but stopping abruptly at the sound of a sword being unsheathed.

“Surrender,” Count Simon orders from where he’s perched on a horse, a small group of soldiers surrounding them on horses.

Perhaps he spoke too soon. 


	3. ACT III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Torture, revenge, true love. In that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: torture, attempted suicide (never explicitly stated as an attempted suicide, but implied), more swordfighting, and blood/death

Louis bites his lip as he looks around them, knowing there’s no possible way to get out now, even with Harry’s sword-fighting skills and quick wit and strength and everything in between. 

“You wish to surrender to me? Lovely idea. I accept,” Harry says with a small nod of approval, and Louis would snicker if he wasn’t so concerned about the state of Harry’s head and neck remaining in tact.

Count Simon narrows his eyes. “Do you think I’m joking?”

“Oh, no, sir. At least, I’d hope not. Otherwise, I’d have to raise a few questions regarding your sense of humor.”

Count Simon cocks his head and guides his horse to move closer so he can point his sword more directly towards Harry. “I think it’d be in your best interest to surrender now,” he growls lowly, his eyes intensely narrowed in on Harry’s.

“Death first,” Harry growls back fearlessly, and Louis would smack him upside the head if he wasn’t so concerned that any sudden movements would constitute all the soldiers around him to react.

Louis purses his lips, looking around at the swords and bow and arrows all pointed towards them. He looks back to Count Simon. “Will you promise not to hurt him?”

Count Simon and Harry both whip their heads towards him. “What?!” they both demand.

Louis swallows thickly, feeling his heart starting to shatter already. “If we surrender and I go back to the castle with you, will you promise not to hurt him and instead safely return him to his ship?”

Count Simon narrows his eyes as he considers before raising both hands. “I promise.”

Harry gasps softly to himself when he catches sight of Count Simon’s right hand, but he can’t take the time to focus on it now on account of what Louis has just said. 

Louis smiles weakly up at Harry’s shocked expression, shaking his head lightly. “I thought you were dead once already, and it completely destroyed me. I can’t have you die another time — not when I’m able to stop it.”

Harry clenches his jaw, clearly completely torn. 

Louis pulls him in for an embrace, leaning in by his ear briefly. “Come back for me.”

“Always,” Harry whispers back without any thought, looking at Louis with a bit of uncertainty when he pulls away.

“All of you,” Count Simon says, look around at the soldiers. “Take Louis back to the castle. Make sure he gets there _safely._ I’ll direct this fellow back to his ship.”

The soldiers nod and one reaches out for Louis’ arm. Louis takes the assistance and hops up on the horse, giving Harry a small smile and nod before the horse trots off with the two soldiers following behind.

Harry sighs before looking back at Count Simon, then down at his hand.

“What is it?” Count Simon asks sharply.

“You have six fingers on your right hand. I know someone who was looking for you earlier.”

And with that, Count Simon’s face goes grim before knocking Harry out with the hilt of his sword.

 

When Harry wakes, he’s strapped to a table with all of his limbs restrained and has quite the headache. He frowns and turns his head side-to-side to look around, unfamiliar with his surroundings. It looks like some type of cave-turned-lair of some sort, and he tries to remember what could’ve caused this.

“You’re in the Pit of Despair,” a voice darkly explains, and Harry _knows_ that voice. Probably because it was the last thing he heard before going unconscious.

“Who are you?” Harry demands, trying to catch sight of the man behind the voice before going still once the man walks over by Harry’s head and looks down at him. Count Simon, if Harry recalls correctly.

“Is someone nervous now? No smart comments?”

“Give it time,” Harry grumbles, trying to move his wrists that are restrained quite tightly against the wooden table.

“Ah, there it is. Sadly, I won’t be needing much talking from your end,” Count Simon sighs before stuffing Harry’s mouth with what Harry _hopes_ is a clean towel. Not that it’ll matter, anyways, seeing as he’s clearly in some kind of torture chamber. “It took me half a lifetime to invent this and, today, you have the pleasure of being its first trial,” he says, walking over to uncover some kind of machine with odd tubes and buttons and lights. “It’ll suck the life right out of you. I just flip the lever on whatever setting I want, and literal years of your life will be sucked from your body. Ingenious, right? Initially, I considered testing it on cows and other large animals first. But now I have _you_ here, so I can go all in. I call it _The Machine_.”

Harry doesn’t scare easily. In fact, he likes to think he’s grown past fearing things ever since his encounter and success with the Dread Pirate Roberts. Yet, he can feel his breathing start to become a bit strained from nerves at the idea of such a device.

“Do you even know how long it’s been?”

Harry furrows his eyebrows. He was with Louis mere hours ago, wasn’t he? He starts to feel a bit disoriented at his own questioning. 

“It's been two weeks. That's right, fourteen days. I've kept you unconscious this whole time through a various array of drugs, and I've kept you alive through another various array of drugs — and through the power of tube feeding.” Harry swallows thickly at the thought, wondering if _that’s_ why his throat feels so sore and his head feels so dizzy. “Louis thinks you're long gone now, and soon he’ll be long gone, too. You see, I hired a Sicilian man to kidnap him and bring him to Guilder so I’d have reason to start a war. That didn't work, thanks to your interference, as well as the incompetence of the men he chose to assist him. I _then_ had the delicious plan to kill him myself, but Prince Zayn is a spineless coward who would certainly not allow anything of the sort, so I’ll just have to deal with him myself later. It’ll all work out swimmingly, and soon enough, his and Louis’ death will allow me to step up to my rightful spot in charge.”

Harry wants to tell Count Simon how the number one error villains make is explaining their whole plan to their victim right before killing them because they usually end up getting away, but he has a feeling he won't be getting away anytime soon. Plus, he's got a questionable towel crammed in his mouth.

“I know what you're thinking. ‘You're an idiot for telling me your whole plan, Count Simon. Obviously I'm just going to tell everyone once I get out’ but, the thing is, you're not getting out. On the contrary. Your life will literally be sucked out from your body and your soul will be left here to suffer eternally,” Count Simon says with a dark laugh, going over to grab something from his work table.

Harry looks around desperately, searching for _anything_ that could possibly get him out. His search doesn’t come out to much other than some dingy scissors that are out of reach, as well as a half-empty glass of wine. The fucker _actually_ has the nerve to drink during his last few moments of life. Bloody typical.

Count Simon chuckles at Harry’s expression, walking over and unbuttoning his shirt. Harry widens his eyes and yells something foul, muffled by the towel. Count Simon huffs and rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. The Machine can’t suck the life out of you through your shirt, sadly.” Count Simons places four different suction cups onto Harry’s chest in the shape of a box, strapping some type of gear on Harry’s head so he can’t move around. He smiles and steps back, inspecting Harry before nodding contently. “Perfect. Now — any last words?”

Harry breathes steadily, keeping his eyes up and trying to focus on the positives. Louis’ still alive, so that’s good. He’s probably worried sick, and may even start searching for him. Yes, that’s exactly what’s happening. Louis will come in at any moment with a group of soldiers and—

“Level one,” Count Simon says, going over to turn the dial one click to the right on the machine.

_Fuckfuckfuck,_ he’s literally going to die today. 

He blinks and tries to look at The Machine from the corner of his eye, noting the tubes filling up with water and a horrible whirring noise accompanying it. He doesn’t feel much except tightness, like his body is a bit strained and cramped. He groans slightly, but he begins to have hope if the next few levels are this easy.

His hope fades, however, once Count Simon finishes writing something on a notepad and pads back to the dial. “This seems far too easy for you. Let’s boost to level five, shall we?”

“Level five?!” Harry muffles through his towel, which ends up sounding more like “we-oh why?!”

Count Simon clicks the dial to the right four more times. Harry hardly even has time to process the feeling — whether it stings or burns or twists or does all at once — before he’s already howling in pain, eyes tearing up from the pressure.

“Hmm, interesting,” Count Simon muses, scribbling a few more things down and chuckling darkly as he watches Harry squirm and groan and whine. 

Harry’s beyond frustrated with himself. Years and years of training his body to not need sleep, be immune to iocane powder, and take punches like a champ all going down the drain. Or, technically, up the tube. 

Count Simon is about to turn the dial more until the door opens, and for a moment, Harry has hope he’ll make it out.

Once again, his hope fades when he realizes it’s just one of Count Simon’s assistants.

“I’m busy. What is it?” Count Simon gruffs, turning the dial down to one so Harry’s noises won’t disrupt.

“It’s Prince Zayn, sir. He just spoke with Louis and he seems quite upset with you. He wishes to meet with you immediately,” the assistant says, staying a safe distance away from The Machine.

“Tell him I’ll speak with him in a moment,” Count Simon huffs before pausing and narrowing his eyes, tapping his fingers against his work table and humming. “Actually — tie him up and lock him away where no one will find him. The stables out back are probably our best bet. Put him in the furthest one possible, it should be empty. Make sure he has his mouth covered, too. I’ll deal with him later.”

The assistant gapes a bit, like he can’t believe these are real orders, before forcibly closing his mouth and nodding quickly. “Yes, of course. Right away, sir.”

Count Simon chuckles as he hurries out, returning to the dial. “Ah, the perks of being feared among the entire castle,” he sighs contently, tapping his finger against the dial and watching Harry’s flinches of anticipation. “As much as I’d love to stay and have a little more fun, ‘m afraid I’ll have to move a lot quicker than I thought. Can’t keep the Princess waiting,” he says smugly, slowly starting to turn the dial bit-by-bit, not bothering to stop at five. Harry’s blood boils when he hears ‘princess’, his fists clenching as he almost convinces himself that his rage will be able to help him tough this out. He’s proven wrong when the dial reaches ten, and all he can do is sob out painfully. “It’s been a great experience. I hope you find yourself more fortunate in the afterlife.”

Count Simon abruptly ticks the dial all the way to the right, putting The Machine to a whopping level fifty. His eyes widen and gleam like a child coming downstairs on Christmas at the sound Harry makes, almost sounding animalistic with its pitch. It’s not a shriek, nor a scream or howl — it’s much worse. Much louder. Much more _painful_. Count Simon laughs in delight and watches as Harry’s body twists and turns unbearably on the wooden table, sipping his wine and continuing to watch as if he’s watching a fireworks show rather than a human dying. 

Eventually, Harry’s body goes completely limp and The Machine stops, sounding more lively than ever. Count Simon goes over to check his pulse. Nothing. He puts his finger under Harry’s nose to see if he’s still breathing. Not even a bit. He smiles proudly and removes the headgear and suction cups, humming as he stores them away and giving one last look back at Harry’s limp, lifeless body.

And that’s that.

 

It’s morning when Louis starts to get suspicious. 

Well, even _more_ suspicious than he’d originally been these past few weeks.

He’d talked to Zayn just yesterday about his concern for Harry and whether or not Count Simon even sent him back on his ship in the first place. Zayn then told him that he’d seen Count Simon come in-and-out of the woods quite often, which usually meant awful things for whichever alleged ‘spy’ or ‘enemy from Guilder’ he’d captured. It only took a second for it all to click. 

Zayn was going to talk to Count Simon and demand answers, but he hasn’t come back to report to Louis at all. He knows it’s up to him now, so he spends the entire morning planning out everything he’s going to say, even practices how he’s going to cross his arms. 

He approaches him a little after breakfast, knocking firmly on the door leading into Count Simon’s study.

Count Simon opens the door only halfway, leaving just his face visible. “Can I help you?”

“A word,” Louis requests firmly. 

“Regarding what?”

“Regarding _whom_ ,” Louis corrects immediately, rehearsed narrowed eyes and crossed arms in all their glory. 

Count Simon raises an amused eyebrow, turning back to look behind himself for a moment before turning back to Louis. “Give me a moment. I’m working on something,” he grumbles before shutting the door. 

Louis huffs a breath and taps his foot impatiently, listening to all of the clamor behind the door with a frown. He probably should go in and check on what exactly Count Simon’s working on, but he trusts that he’ll be able to uncover whatever it is once he’s inside.

A full minute passes before Count Simon opens the door again, wider this time so Louis can walk in. 

Louis immediately looks around, knowing Count Simon’s probably smug with how there’s nearly nothing suspicious on display. 

“So, who is the ‘whom’ you’re referring to?” Count Simon asks, going over to sit on the chair at his desk leisurely.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Louis scoffs, standing at the other side of the desk. “You never sent him back to his ship, did you?”

Count Simon raises his eyebrows slightly, staring at Louis for a moment as if he’s contemplating before shaking his head. 

“You have quite an imagination.”

Louis slams his hands down on the desk, leaning in impatiently with narrowed eyes. “I have quite an imagination? So have I just been _imagining_ how suspicious you’ve been these past few weeks? Hell, these last few _years_ ever since that first day you came to my family’s farm? Don't play dumb just because you’re a _coward_ afraid to face the facts.”

Count Simon’s jaw tightens at Louis’ words. “I wouldn’t say such things if I were you.”

“Why? Because I’m right? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that my kidnapping was all _your_ idea,” Louis snaps, staring at Count Simon carefully before nodding. “It _was_ you, wasn’t it? Christ. Wait till I tell Zayn about this. You’ll be _over_.”

Count Simon huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, getting up from his chair and casually strolling around to get to Louis. Before Louis can even glare in suspicion, he feels a knife pressed to his throat.

“You tell a single soul about what you _think_ I did, and you’re dead.”

“Go right on ahead. I dare you,” Louis hisses, figuring Harry’s probably _actually_ dead now if Count Simon had any time with him.

Count Simon narrows his eyes before tapping his knife thoughtfully. “I have a better idea. At tonight’s ceremony honoring the soldiers of Florin, you’ll make an announcement about how you were kidnapped by men from Guilder. You’ll declare war against them, and I’ll allow it.”

Louis scoffs and shakes his head. “Not a chance in hell, and Zayn wouldn’t let that happen, either.”

“Tell me, Louis, do you see Zayn anywhere? _Have_ you seen him anywhere?” Count Simon questions with a smug smirk.

Louis furrows his eyebrows, his suspicions unfortunately starting to come true. “What’d you do to him, you bastard?”

“Mm, let’s just say he’s heavily sedated and won’t be intruding on the festivities tonight.”

Louis clenches his jaw and crosses his arms, feeling his courage start to weaken knowing there are less and less people alive and on his side now. “You can’t force me to take part in any of your plans.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t. But I _can_ pay a visit to your family’s farm… maybe say hi to mum and dad,” Count Simon sneers with a dark smirk, knowing he’s struck a chord due to Louis’ wide-eyed expression. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick.”

“You keep my family out of this,” Louis orders lowly, though his attempt at sounding threatening doesn’t quite cover up his fear enough. 

“Gladly. Just do as I say and we’ll get out of this situation death-free,” Count Simon says, though Louis’ sure that even if he _does_ end up going through with it, he’ll end up getting killed anyways.

Louis purses his lips tightly, looking away and digging his nails into his palm as he tries to think of any possible way out of this situation. There’s nothing that comes to mind. He can’t possibly try anything when his family’s life is on the line now.

“Okay. I’ll do it,” he says quietly, keeping his eyes away. 

Count Simon smiles wickedly. “Perfect. You’ll get dressed in proper attire before dinner, and we’ll rehearse a bit before we go.”

Louis nods before walking out quickly, ducking his head to hide his shameful tears. 

“Oh, and Louis?”

Louis stops and turns his head slightly to the side without showing his face.

“Don’t even _think_ about escaping. I’ve got the entire castle guarded, as well as the woods.”

Louis bites his lip and nods before walking out a bit faster. He can hear Count Simon’s taunting laughter, which just prompts him to set off into a run down the stairs and out to the stables. He can’t escape, but he can at least cry to the horses. He lets out a deep sigh of relief when he makes it without any guards trying to send him back inside, just needing some fresh air to fuel his thoughts and possible options. 

Only, he _has_ no options. 

If he goes through with Simon’s plan, he’ll be responsible for starting an unnecessary war and the inevitable death of thousands. If he doesn’t, his parents will be _dead_. He collapses onto a pile of hay and covers his face, sobbing quietly to himself. He wishes he could just steal one of the horses and take a ride into the woods to properly calm his nerves, but even _that_ isn’t an option for him now.

So, he just remains lying on the pile of hay, crying uncontrollably until he falls asleep.

 

He’s awaken by one of the guards gently nudging against his hip with his toe.

“Um, your highness?” the guard asks tentatively, almost like he’s scared Louis will blow up on him.

Louis sits up and rubs at his eyes, yawning slightly before noticing the sun starting to set. “Is it time for me to get ready?”

“Yes. Count Simon has your attire ready with a tailor on hand so it’s properly fitted. I’ll escort you to it right away.”

Louis nods stoically and gets up, following the guard back inside and into one of the dining rooms. He greets the tailor politely with a nod, blocking out most of whatever he’s explaining about the royal garb because he truly just cannot be bothered with anything other than his own guilt. He thinks hard about any last possible options he may have, though he knows it’s a lost cause.

Well, except for _one_ possible option. One extreme, irreversible option.

Once he’s finally all dressed and straightened out, he makes the excuse to freshen up in his room before quickly padding upstairs. He looks around carefully, ensuring no one else is around, before slipping into Count Simon’s study. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees there’s no one inside, knowing he’d have a hard time defending his actions.

He bites his lip as he approaches his desk, looking through the drawers until he finds a sleek box. He places it on the table and opens it, letting out a steady breath when he sees it.

The dagger Count Simon threatened him with.

Louis’ initial thought was to expose Count Simon in front of everyone while he got the chance, but he realized Count Simon is a — somehow — highly respected person throughout Florin while _he’s_ just some commoner-turned-fiancé. Not a soul would believe him.

He _then_ considered killing Count Simon himself after stealing the dagger, but he knew it’d be nearly impossible to get him secluded given all the guards on lookout.

So, that brings him to his last option.

He keeps the box closed and holds his breath until he reaches his bedroom, shutting the door and leaning against it for a moment to breath out slowly before walking over and setting it down on his desk. He sighs shakily as he opens it, grabbing the handle and just staring at it.

This is it.

He closes his eyes and lets out another steady breath, directing the dagger towards his chest — specifically, towards his heart, which is currently broken and numb all at once.

He’s about to press it forward when he hears a voice.

“There’s a shortage of perfect chests in the world. It’d be a pity to damage yours.”

Louis widens his eyes and drops the dagger immediately, whipping around and seeing Harry laying leisurely on his bed. His shirt is torn and bloodied and he's got weary eyes as if he hasn't slept in ages, but Louis still feels like his breath is stuck in his throat from his undeniable beauty. 

“Oh my — _Harry_ ,” he gasps, dashing over and nearly pouncing on the bed to attack Harry’s face with kisses. “I thought you were dead — _again_. Did he hurt you, love?” he asks worriedly, continuing to kiss all over Harry’s face before starting to frown and slow down. “Why aren’t you holding me?”

“Gently..” Harry strains.

“ _Gently_? We part for weeks and all you have to say is _gently_?” Louis huffs slightly, unintentionally digging his knee against Harry’s thigh and making him gasp.

“ _Gently_!” Harry yelps with his eyes widened and back arching slightly off the headboard before Louis quickly retreats his knee.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Louis murmurs with a frown, unsure exactly _why_ Harry’s apparently so sensitive, but he’s sure he’ll get an explanation later. He sighs lightly and rests his head on Harry’s shoulder. “You’ll never forgive me.”

“What hideous sin have you committed lately?” Harry asks with only a light teasing grin.

Louis rolls his eyes with a faint matching smile before shaking his head. “It’s Simon. He wants me to make an announcement tonight at the soldier honoring ceremony about being kidnapped by people of Guilder so that he can start war, or else he’ll kill my family. _I’ll_ be responsible for thousands of innocent people dying.”

Harry tuts and shakes his head. Or, at least, he _tries_ to shake his head, but it comes a bit strained and slow. “You won’t be. You haven’t made the announcement, therefore there is still time to think of a way out. Wouldn’t you agree, Count?”

Louis widens his eyes and turns his head back, quickly standing up straight when he sees Count Simon standing by the door with eyes narrowed.  
“I don’t think you’ll be as fortunate to make it out of this one,” he grumbles, glaring over at Harry. “Now, would you like to explain why you’re laying on a bed rather than being _dead,_ as I left you?”

“I _would,_ but by the way you’re currently grasping your sword, I don’t think you really want to give my explanation the time of day.”

Count Simon raises an eyebrow at Harry, then down at his sword. “Fair enough,” he says before pointing his sword towards Harry. “To the death, then.”

“ _No_ ,” Harry insists as his eyes glance over at the clock, which reads 5:55, before narrowing them back at Count Simon as he pauses for a moment. “To the _pain_.”

Count Simon looks like he’s about to charge, but instead he cocks his head. “I’m sorry — did you just say ‘to the pain’? I don’t think I’m familiar with that phrase.”

“Then let me dumb it down for you, you cross-eyed, greasy-faced, lipless _pig_.”

Count Simon and Louis both widen their eyes in shock.

“What? Are you still on the word ‘cross-eyed’, you imbecile?” Harry snorts.

“No. I — that’s the first time anyone’s ever said… _that_ to me,” Count Simon says with furrowed eyebrows, clearly taken back by the extremity and… creativity of the insult.

“Well it won’t be the last,” Harry insists, glancing over at the clock again before glaring back at Count Simon. “‘To the pain’ means I start by cutting your feet off, just below the ankles. I’ll then cut your hands off by the wrist, followed by a clean cut to the nose.”

“Then my tongue, then my head. Okay. I get it,” Count Simon mumbles impatiently. “Clearly I jumped the gun with setting The Machine to fifty. I’ll make sure to take my sweet time killing you—”

“I wasn’t finished,” Harry cuts in quickly, licking his lips as he seems to consider his next phrase. “The next thing you’ll lose is your left eye, followed by your right—”

“—and then my ears. Alright, I understand. Now can we _please_ just get on with—”

“Wrong!” Harry exclaims brightly, making Louis jolt a bit beside him. “You get to keep your ears, and I’ll tell you why.”

Count Simon purses his lips, looking torn between frustration and _actual_ fear. Hm. Who would’ve thought colorful insults were his weakness?

“You’ll keep your ears so that when you’re in public and people screech and cry at your appearance, when children scream ‘mummy, what is that thing?!’… you’ll hear it all perfectly. _That’s_ what ‘to the pain’ means. It means I leave you ugly and defenseless, only able to listen to cries of misery in response to your appearance for the rest of your life.”

Count Simon looks equally shocked and disturbed, his lips parted slightly. “I— I think you’re bluffing.”

Harry hums and gives a light shrug. “I could be, you hairy, slimy warthog. It may be conceivable that I’m bluffing, you big buffoon. Perhaps I can’t even get off this bed. Perhaps my limbs are numb until exactly 6 o'clock due to a medication that revived me, and I’m just trying to buy time…” he trails off. Louis will _scream_ if that’s actually the case and Harry just exposed himself. “Then again… perhaps I’m telling the truth. Perhaps I have the strength after all.”

Louis squints an eye in disbelief as Count Simon looks _genuinely_ perplexed, as if he can’t just go over and find out for himself that Harry’s immobile for another few seconds. He watches as Harry clenches his jaw and slowly sits up. He’s clearly still quite tender on his feet as he somehow manages to stand up, but he plays it off as intentional as he grabs his sword and aims it towards Simon.

“Drop. Your. Sword,” Harry orders fiercely, the tone sending chills down Louis’ spine. Not from fear, though. For… other reasons. 

Simon looks pale and genuinely afraid, his hand shaking noticeably before he abruptly turns on his heels and sprints out of the room and down the hall.

“Oh, thank god,” Harry wheezes as he immediately drops his sword and stumbles against the bed. Louis quickly grabs Harry’s arm, helping him up and letting him use his shoulder to lean against.

“Did you _actually_ just admit to his face that you were temporarily immobile? Do you know how idiotic that is?!” Louis scolds with a shake of his head.

“Do you know how idiotic _he_ is for not picking up on that? Christ, I was prepared to have you sword fight him to defend my honor,” Harry huffs, his lips turning into a half-smirk before looking up at the sound of footsteps. “Oh, hey Li!”

Louis looks back, raising his eyebrows when he spots Liam by the door.

“Hey, sorry we took so long. You’d be surprised at how many guards we had to go through,” Liam says with a roll of his eyes, even though it probably just took a simple crack of his knuckles to clear the way. “How’s the medicine wearing off?”

“Gracefully,” Harry replies with a thumbs up, still half leaning on Louis. “Where’s Niall?”

Liam furrows his eyebrows and whips his head behind him, then to his side. “He was just here, I swear…”

All three look out the door at the sound of yells and swords clanking.

Harry then widens his eyes in realization. “The Count!”

“What about the Count?” Liam asks with a frown.

“He’s the six-fingered man that killed Niall’s father!” Harry sheathes his sword and gives Louis’ bum a light smack before pointing towards the door. “Onward!”

Louis jumps slightly before huffing and tugging at a strand of Harry’s hair. “I’m _not_ a horse,” he murmurs as he quickly follows Liam out, restraining himself from making a riding joke. He takes note of a really good one, though. For later.

The three cautiously head down the hall and stop when they reach the banister, watching with wide eyes as Niall and Count Simon clank swords relentlessly downstairs in the lobby of the castle.

“Hello, my name is Niall Horan. You killed my —”

“Stop _saying_ that!” Count Simon yells, and if Louis squints, he can see his face is full of sweat and struggle. 

“Not until you _die_ ,” Niall hisses out, which Louis thinks is the most serious and angry he’s ever heard him so far. “Hello, my name is Niall — _oh_ ,” he groans, clutching his shoulder briefly when the tip of Count Simon’s sword reaches part of it. 

Louis gasps slightly, looking to Liam. “We need to help him!”

Liam sighs and shakes his head reluctantly. “He’ll never forgive me if I do.”

Louis’ hesitant, but he nods understandingly. He figures he’d be the same if he’d been preparing for this exact moment for years. Still, he can’t help but cringe and frown guiltily as he watches Count Simon corner a weak, bloodied Niall up against the wall.

“Give up,” Count Simon orders, sounding beyond frustrated and out-of-breath.

For a moment, it looks as if Niall has no other choice. He’s limp against the wall and breathing hard, but at the last second, he brings his sword up and abruptly slashes Count Simon’s shoulder.

“Hello, my name is Niall Horan. You killed my father. Prepare to die,” Niall says weakly before gathering the strength to push himself off the wall and stand up straight, slashing Count Simon’s other shoulder as fast as lightning. “ _Hello_ , my name is Niall Horan. You killed my father. Prepare to die,” he says with a little more force and life back into his tone, stepping forward with a bit of a limp and causing Count Simon to step back shakily. “ _HELLO!_ My name is Niall Horan! You killed my father! Prepare to die!” he booms out suddenly, starting to clank swords with him quickly — nearly too quick for the Count to even keep up with — until the Count is the one backed up against the wall with his sword dropped from the force of Niall’s hits. He’s defeated and he knows it, so he can only remain pressed up against the wall with a look of fear in his eyes.

“Offer me money,” Niall demands, slashing across one of Count Simon’s knees.

“Yes,” Count Simon says quickly, just as Niall slashes his other knee.

“Ooh, he went for the knees,” Harry commentates with a grin and nod of approval. Louis would chastise him for ruining such an important moment. He _would_ , if he wasn’t so enamored by him and everything he did. Instead, he just elbows Harry and shushes him, leaning a bit closer against the banister to try and get a better view.

“Offer me power,” Niall demands again.

“ _Yes_. Everything I have. _Please_ ,” Count Simon strains.

“Offer me everything I could ever ask for.”

“Anything you want and more.”

Just as it seems like Niall’s about to accept the offers and step away, he thrusts his sword directly into Count Simon’s chest — more specifically, into his heart.

“I want my father back, you son-of-a-bitch,” he grumbles coldly, keeping his sword deeply pressed inside as he watches Count Simon gasp and struggle for air before finally going limp and falling to the ground. 

Niall lets out a sigh of relief, but not just any quick relief of their battle ending. _Years-long_ relief. Relief of the weight of his father’s death on his shoulders. Relief of the nightmares and hallucinations and countless nights at a pub drinking his sorrows. 

He pulls his sword out slowly, staring down at Count Simon’s lifeless body with a weary smile forming on his face.

“That was bloody _amazing_!” Liam shouts, quickly running over to tackle Niall with a hug before Louis can even warn him about the few cuts and gashes and inevitable sore spots. Well. It’s the thought that counts.

Niall groans as Liam hugs him, but he’s not any less happy or proud. In fact, he drops his sword just so he can properly hug back as Louis leads a now-stable Harry towards them. 

“Are you alright? We need to go and get you patched up,” Louis insists, letting Niall use him as a crutch as Harry grabs his sword from the ground for him.

“We can use the horses in the stable to get out of here. There’s more than enough for each of us to have one,” Liam says, acting as a crutch for Niall’s other side as they make their way out back to the stables. 

Niall leans against Harry as Liam starts gathering the horses once they make it out, Louis helping and going to the last stable at the end.

Louis opens the gate and gasps when he’s greeted with Zayn’s unconscious body tied to a chair. “Oh my god,” he mumbles, quickly waving Liam over so he can undo the knotted ropes around his wrists and ankles.

Liam undoes them easily — though, to be fair, he’s mostly ripping them rather than just untying them.

“Is this your friend?” Liam asks with a frown, carrying Zayn’s body bridal style as he steps out into the remaining light left in the sky to see if he’s okay.

“Yeah, Zayn,” Louis says, putting two fingers against Zayn’s neck and sighing out in relief when he feels a slow, yet still-active pulse.

Liam widens his eyes and looks from Louis back down to Zayn. “Zayn? As in, the Prince of Florin?”

Louis nods lightly, raising his eyebrows and pointing at Zayn as he seems to shift awake in Liam’s arms. 

Zayn blinks slowly, clearly disoriented and possibly still affected from whatever Count Simon drugged him with. He furrows his eyebrows slightly when he looks up at Liam, cocking his head and poking his cheek. “Are you an angel?”

Liam blushes furiously, looking up to Louis with wide eyes for help.

Louis laughs brightly and nods. “Yup, he’s your own guardian angel, Z.”

Zayn hums and smiles contently, closing his eyes again and gets a bit more comfortable in Liam’s arms. “He’s cozy.”

Liam looks both stunned and petrified, like he can’t believe this is actually happening but also like he’s afraid he’ll mess something up. “What do we do with him? Put him in his bedroom?”

“We can’t just _leave_ him here! Not when all his guards are gone and his advisor is dead. Can you imagine how scared he’ll be when he wakes up?” Niall tuts, shaking his head in disapproval. “We’ll take him with us — make sure he gets properly cared for when he wakes up. Then we’ll bring him back.”

“Not before he falls in love with Liam,” Louis interjects with a smug grin, snickering as he guides a horse over to Niall and one for Harry and himself to share. 

“Wait — are you sure I should be holding him? What if I accidentally hurt him?” Liam asks, worry written in his tone and on his lips.

Louis laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not that person anymore, mate,” he says with a grin, watching as Liam’s eyebrows raise and as his lips start forming a wide smile, looking almost as if he could just _cry_ from happiness. Louis’ not sure what does it — the reassurance that he’s no longer some type of monster or from calling him ‘mate’. Either way, it’s enough for Louis. He smiles back and gives Liam’s shoulder a light pat before turning back to grab the horse he picked for himself and Harry. “C’mon, let’s head out now.”

“Okay, to a doctor… then what?” Niall asks, following as Harry guides him towards a horse.

“Anywhere. We’ve got royalty with us, lads. The world is ours,” Harry said with a playful grin, assisting Niall onto the horse in front of him before getting on the one Louis’ on. He wraps his arms around Louis’ waist and looks at him curiously. “Back to the farm, maybe?”

Louis smiles brightly at the thought, nodding lightly in response. The world _may_ be theirs for the taking now, but the only place he really desires to be is back _home_. “We’ve got extra rooms that should cover them. Though maybe you can sleep in your hovel, for old time’s sake,” he muses teasingly, laughing when Harry narrows his eyes and bites at Louis’ shoulder.

And off they ride into the woods — Liam cautiously leading the way with a half-conscious prince holding onto him, Louis following close behind with a content grin on his lips and the love of his life holding onto him, and Niall riding beside them with a perplexed look.

“It’s strange — I’ve been in this revenge business for so long, it’s like I don’t even know what to do anymore,” Niall muses. 

Harry hums and looks at Niall thoughtfully, his head rested against Louis’ shoulder. “Have you considered piracy? You’d make an excellent Dread Pirate Roberts,” he ponders, sharing a knowing smirk with Louis as they ride off into the night, enjoying the peaceful quiet and glittering stars and moon above them providing all the light they need.

 

“I think you’re forgetting something,” Harry hums to Louis once they’ve finished getting Niall patched up and started on their journey back to Louis’ farm, Louis resting against Harrys shoulder from behind since they’d switched spots halfway through the ride. They've been traveling for hours now with only little breaks in between for the horses, and their achy muscles and weary expressions prove it. At the same time, it's the most alive Louis' felt in so long.

“What are you talking about?”

“I came back for you, just as I promised,” Harry answers with proud smirk.

“Oh, right. You want a medal for keeping your word, yes?” Louis quirks, grinning back smoothly. “It’s a good thing you did, because where I come from, liars are to be punished…”

Harry barks out a bright laugh and shakes his head. “Where the bloody hell do you come from? That sounds _awful_. I’m sure glad I grew up in a _civilized_ town.”

“Mm, just a town full of farmhands that are also undercover pirates. It _is_ quite dreadful — especially when they love me and leave me for years with no love letters or signs telling me that they’re still alive…” 

“Really? They leave you, just like that?” Harry gasps, bringing the horse to a halt so he can turn his head back and face Louis. “Without one kiss?”

Louis purses his lips to contain his smile. “No, actually. There was _one_ life-changing kiss, I reckon. One that could make history, probably.”

“Hm. Well, I’m sure we could give that one a run for its money right now,” Harry says thoughtfully. 

“Yeah? Shall we give it a go?”

“As you wish,” Harry hums with a sly wink before cupping Louis’ jaw firmly and kissing him, Louis’ lips immediately finding their place and deeply making their imprint. 

There are no sparks. There’s no violin music playing in Louis’ head. There’s nothing that was there when they first kissed long ago.

No.

There are full-on explosions of light, glittering and blinding. There’s a full symphony. There’s everything that Louis had no idea was even missing from their kiss long ago. There’s everything Louis had no idea was even missing from their kiss after reuniting for the first time at the bottom of the hill. There’s _everything._

 

And, as you can probably guess, this kiss goes down in history as the highest on Louis’ scale, hands down.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW thanks for making it this far! here's a little round-up of scenes that are missing but I am certainly not against adding later on (once authors are revealed):
> 
> \- Miracle Max scene (with James Corden as Miracle Max???)  
> \- A gratuitous smutty reunion scene between Harry and Louis back @ the farm (yeehaw ;) )  
> \- A “what happens next” type of thing where it’s the next morning and they all try to #FigureItOut in life/as pals  
> \- A marriage scene between Prince Zayn (bc I just realized there's a devastating lack of dialogue on his part that must be made up for) and a certain kind-eyed (semi) giant...
> 
> again, I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it bc it was such a blast! you can talk to me [here](http://bravefortheboys.tumblr.com/) !


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